


Across the Universe

by PinkCedar



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Childhood Sweethearts, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parallel Universes, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25137424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkCedar/pseuds/PinkCedar
Summary: Arya Stark was seven when she met Jon Targaryen in a dream. But was it really a dream due to her fertile imagination or were their lives wrapped up in one another somehow?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Arya Stark
Comments: 111
Kudos: 208





	1. Dreamland

Arya Stark, age seven, ducked through the hole in the fence between her yard and the neighbor’s, and found her two older siblings -Sansa, nine, and Robb, nearly thirteen- sitting on the back porch with Theon, their friend. Sansa had her dolls spread out around her, and was busily arranging them while their brother and Theon played cards.

“Hey,” Arya said, sitting down next to Sansa. “What’re you doin’?”

“Tidying up.” She pushed her hair over her shoulders. “You can't touch them, your hands are always dirty.”

“Oh yeah?” Arya scrutinized the immaculate toys. “What if I wash them down the streak? We could take the dolls and turn them into mermaids.”

"That's silly. They are princes and princesses, not mermaids." Robb gave a derisive snort, and called Theon to move to a more silent place to continue playing.

“Just because you have no imagination doesn’t mean that you can make fun of me for mine," Arya replied.

“And who says I want your imagination?” 

“I do. I think being a princess like these dolls would be boring.” Arya stood with a big grin. “Unless she did more than sewing and singing and doing what she was told to do.” She grabbed Sansa's hand. “Come on, Sansa! We can pretend that the yard is being attacked by those stormtroopers from that movie Robb likes so much. Did you know that that lady with braids is a princess?”

“I don't want to play your games Arya! No one does. That's why you don't have friends.”

Sansa regretted her harsh words immediately, but didn't want to apologise, so she stood and left her sister behind.

*****

That night, Ned Stark had gotten home to find Arya sitting in front of the fire, brooding. She was curled up alone in her pyjamas, sitting dejectedly amidst his chess pieces (she'd been fascinated by the game when she saw him playing with Robb the other night). He patted her hair offering silent comfort, as he always did. When Arya had slowly started confiding in him about her sadness over her sister’s words and her fear of Sansa being right, Ned figured he'd made the right call. 

“Everybody has flaws, darling,” he said finally, thinking of the talk he would have to have with his older daughter.

“Not you, father,” Arya replied.

“Aye, I do,” he chuckled. “I can maybe be too cruel and ruthless if I'm crossed. And I can be a little reckless at times if a friend is in need.”

Arya flushed but she was comforted by the words nevertheless. It was a relief that her father didn't expect her to be perfect – she could just be herself. "I think I have the same flaw," she said, "being reckless? And I have a bit of a temper sometimes. Mother always says so."

"Well," Ned said, "we can work on improving ourselves together, but we should always keep in mind that it's OK not to be perfect."

“Sansa acts like she’s perfect though,” she said, still feeling hurt.

“Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you… You two will make peace someday. Remember, when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. We must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths.”

“Alright, father, I’ll remember,” she solemnly swore.

*****

The warm and reassuring aroma of cinnamon filled the air and mingled with that of freshly baked meat pies and sweets. The kitchen in her house was her mother's domain, and only Sansa was allowed in it during the meals preparation—so unlike what stood before her. 

Arya immediately understood that she was dreaming, and thought it was ironic that she was dreaming of a kitchen in a castle. And it was a castle, she was sure. The women wore dresses and had braided hair just like a picture she saw in her sister's books. The walls were made of stone, there were a lot of candles, and the oven was huge, something Arya had never seen before.

Thus, she felt terribly out-of-place, standing in her pyjamas in a corner, still unnoticed by the staff that worked busily, and decided to hide behind a column. They appeared to be preparing for a grand event, or perhaps it was only dinner, while an older woman gave orders.

Questions swirled in her mind. Was this really a dream? The colors, the smell, everything felt too real. Amid her spinning mind and the bustling staff, Arya spotted a boy. A tall one, that seemed to be close to Robb's age.

He was as misplaced as she, for the opposite reason. Where her clothes were… well, her warm and cozy flannel pjs, his looked formal, crimson and black and embroidered with gold. Where her hair was wild, in contrast with everyone's braids, he was prim, with pale skin, with dark brown hair and a bored expression. He paced, clenching his hands into fists, and when the cook saw him she asked under her breath if he could be hiding again.

From her distance, Arya could only make out his complaints about a ceremony and how he didn't want to go, so he decided to ask for a slice of bread and a glass of water. He seemed sad, somehow, and she gaped at him until his eyes turned to her. She didn't know if anyone could really see her. From where he stood, it seemed that he was inspecting her with narrowed eyes and on a whim, she forgone even the most perfunctory courtesies.

She stuck her tongue out.

The boy's mouth fell open.

Arya already understood that everything in her dream seemed to be contrary to anything she'd known, but the boy's reaction surprised her all the same. He smiled. A big toothy smile that lit his face and made him look more like a child. And that's when the cook noticed her, with an astonished expression on her face.

It was a blur after that. Not because she felt that sensation of disconnection one has when they're dreaming, but because the cook and, soon after, all the staff were upon her, asking all kinds of questions. They asked Arya's name, age, and family name, what kind of clothes she was wearing, how she'd gotten into the kitchen, if she'd stolen anything.

The boy stood beside her quietly with a curious expression on his face. When she finally answered, a bit overwhelmed, that she was called Arya and her age was seven, he declared that seven was too young to fend for oneself. He grabbed her hand and turned on his heel, storming out. Arya ran as fast as she could to keep up.

They ran through dark corridors lit by torches, climbed some flights of stairs and finally arrived in front of a door that was the tallest door Arya had ever seen, guarded by an equally large man. 

"Good evening Ser, could you ask my mother to come to my room as soon as possible? Tell her I have an unexpected guest."

The man seemed reluctant but agreed, glancing back at Arya with a brow quirked. 

"You'd be wise to watch your manners around the prince," he said before leaving.

Arya didn't stop her snort. "That was rude."

The prince laughed at that. "You're strange." 

Arya was inspecting the wide room, taking notice of the bed, the fireplace and the darkness. It was nothing like her own bedroom, that was messy but cozy.

"Are you really a prince?" She asked.

"Yes. My name is Jon Targaryen, and I'm very interested to find out who you might be."

"I'm Arya. Arya Stark."

"Stark?!" he exclaimed. "So we're related! My mom was a Stark too!"

"This dream is only getting weirder and weirder," Arya sighed. "Ok, so where is this place then?"

Jon was looking at her as if she had two heads. "We're at King's Landing, my lady, of course. How could you not know that?"

"Well, I'm dreaming, so…" she didn't finish her sentence.

"You're not dreaming," he interrupted. "Maybe we should see the maester, have you hit your head?"

"I'm fine! Ask me anything and you'll see that I'm the one who's telling the truth."

"Alright. Where are you from? Do you have any family? What were you doing in the kitchen and how did you get here?" Jon crossed his arms and gave her an expectant look.

"I'm from England, 2005. My dad's name is Eddard, but everyone calls him Ned, and my mother's name is Cathelyn. I have two siblings, Robb and Sansa. I don't know how I got here, but as I said, I think that I'm dreaming. That's where my dream began, the kitchen."

After a pause, Jon tilted his head. "Could it be witchcraft, I wonder?” he said as if it was normal to have witches around, Arya thought amused. “It doesn't feel like you're lying, but I've never heard of the realm of England, and I'd surely know if I had so many family members out there," his eyes dropped to the floor and he continued quietly, "maybe it wouldn't be so lonely here if I knew. But you even have the Stark's look and your strange vestments even has their sigil—wolves!”

Arya noticed he was talking about the wolves that were printed on her shirt. This was getting confusing.

“Father said today that the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” she remembered.

Since his face got even more alarmed, she came closer to him and grabbed his hand. They were silent for a moment and realized that they were a lot alike, physically. The same hair and eyes color, the same long face.

"How about you and your parents? How old are you? Where is this place, if not England?" She asked to keep him talking, even though she was certain that she'd wake any moment now. Somehow, she didn't like to see the prince sad. 

Jon sighed. It was the sort of deep sigh an adult gives when they wonder how much they should speak, a sigh that a kid like him shouldn't know how to do. Arya was unimpressed. She made a bold decision then. Her hands went to his neck, in the same spot where all her family was tickerish, and lightly touched the spot.

Jon squeaked and turned red. He looked at her with wide eyes and an open mouth.

"Ha! So you're ticklish too. Good to know," she goaded. Sometime during the conversation they sat side by side on a bench and, feeling tired and comfortable around him, Arya rested her head on his shoulder before continuing. "C'mon, you haven't answered me yet."

After a pause, Jon said, "My mother's name is Lyanna and my father's name is Rhaegar. I have a brother called Aegon and a sister called Rhaenys, though the only one I see regularly is my mother, even though my father also lives here.” After a pause, he continued, “I have counted only twelve name days so far. We’re in Westeros, the only place I can talk to you properly on the known world, maybe that’s why I haven’t heard of England. There are Seven Kingdoms south of the Wall, and we’re in the Crownlands…”

That’s all Arya would remember, since she felt herself falling asleep to the sound of his voice and when her eyes opened again, she was in her own bed.


	2. The Pale Man

Arya Stark was eight years old, worried and a little scared. It had been three days since her best friend Mycah had gone missing, leaving both herself and everyone around her in a state of anxiety. No one seemed to know anything about what happened to him. There one minute and gone the next. Mycah seemed to have vanished right out of his bedroom, and there was no sign of anyone else being there. There was no note, no threats, and Mycah had said nothing to make Arya worry the day before. He was just gone. 

Of course, the police had been around the school, the neighborhood and his house's surrounding area but had found nothing. Her parents were keeping Arya and her siblings closer to home than ever before and had urged them to stay together. Arya knew that her parents and all the others were simply worried, but the notion that Mycah had been taken and she could do nothing made her sadder. 

Sunday found Arya and her dad in the flat of Mycah’s family since Ned was his father’s boss and friend and he tried to offer what little comfort he could under the current conditions. Everyone was tense and worried. Hearing Mycah’s mother cry to her Dad that she couldn't understand why someone would take her boy made Arya's stomach tighten painfully. Slipping out of the flat's front room, she escaped into her missing best friend's room.

It was the same room she knew, but after the police search it lacked the disarray she was expecting. Arya had been there once to hang out after the two friends had been bullied at school, and contrary to that day, this time her friend's green duvet was neatly tucked across the bed, the toys were in line and there were no clothes in sight. It was familiar, but lacked the most important piece: Mycah. On the bedside table were his latest drawings. Arya almost smiled when she inspected them. They were drawings of all kinds of pets, unfinished. Mycah had been saying that he wanted to be a veterinarian when he grew old.

Sighing softly, Arya looked around the room trying to understand what had happened to her friend. She picked up one of Mycah's school folders that were stacked on the edge of the bed and flipped through it. Arya blinked when she noticed a strange slice of paper tucked partway inside the spelling book. Picking it up, Arya frowned as she read it: _Come with me to the House of the Undying, and you shall drink of truth and wisdom._ It was Mycah's handwriting, but that didn't fit him at all. She didn't understand the meaning behind the words, but Arya folded it up and slipped it into her pocket anyway. Standing up, she gave the room one last look over before rejoining her father in the living room.

They didn't stay much longer; Ned invited Mycah's parents to dinner at their house the next day and told them he'd pray for their boy's return. They were mostly silent on their way driving home, since every time her Dad tried talking about something Arya payed only the slightest bit of attention. When they arrived home she saw it. She was getting out of the car when the pale man with blue lips walked down the street, wearing clothes Arya imagined being something out of a book, kind of leathery and old. She blinked in surprise at the odd sight, but then he was gone when her eyes opened.

"Arya," her dad's voice echoed in the garage. "Come on then."

"Coming Dad." Arya glanced back over her shoulder quickly, trying to figure out how that stranger had moved so fast, but once she was in the house, the man left her mind.

Arya did not think about the mysterious man until she was at her ballet lesson after school two days later. Everyone at school that day had been talking about Mycah's disappearance, and student theories had filled the corridors until someone noticed that Arya, accompanied by her older siblings, had been listening. She did hear, though, and cringed at the speculations of murder and violence. 

It was no wonder that later that day she wasn't doing her pirouettes like she always did and was told by the teacher to practice her pliés and elevés at the barr on the corner. After losing count on how many movements she'd done, she distractedly looked out the window next to her seat and gasped softly as the same pale man walked across the street. Arya looked back to her teacher for a moment, trying to decide if she should say something, but then turned back to see nothing but cars. Rubbing her eyes, she wondered if she had imagined it. The rest of the lesson passed very slowly, with Arya glancing out at the window every so often to make sure she wouldn't see the man again. By the end of the lesson her feet was dragging in her dark mood. 

"Arya?" a soft voice called. A hand reached to get a slice of paper that had fell from Arya's bag and she realized with dread that it was Mycah's note that she'd chosen to take everywhere. It was Jeyne Poole, Sansa's best friend, who was at the same lesson and now read the slice of paper with a frown. "What's this?"

"Nothing," Arya said. She forced a smile that wasn't at all successful.

"Whatever. Your sister is looking for you." Jeyne said, looking annoyed.

"Thanks," Arya responded with a whisper. She prepared to leave as the older girl turned around and entered the loo. Then she heard a strange, muffled sound. She couldn't ignore the cold weight that had settled in her stomach then.

"Jeyne?" Arya called out. Her voice quivered with hesitation. "Was that you?"

There was no response, and Arya glanced at the main entrance before taking a few steps towards the loo. Since there was no answer, Arya entered the toilet and looked about the small room for the girl. A bag was lying on the floor with pointed shoes and a notebook spilling out of it. No one answered when Arya called out again. After a silent debate, Arya checked the three toilet stalls, but they were empty. 

"Jeyne?" Arya called out, her voice weak and desperate. Her mind stumbled over the issue of how Jeyne could have entered right in front of her by the only door and be gone. The window was too tiny and it was locked. She considered if it could be a trick played by the older girl and her sister, but real fear was clawing at her chest, though Arya didn't know what she was afraid of. She just… was.

Suddenly, a noise came from behind her, and Arya turned to see the man with a sinister blue smile standing in plain view in the mirror. Only, the reflection made it appear that he was standing right behind her. Gasping, Arya spun around to look, but she was alone in the room. She looked back to the mirror, ignoring a shaking hand to see the man grinning at her.

"Who are you?" Arya asked weakly, taking note of his pale skin, bald head and skinny figure. "How are you doing that?"

"All I want," the man told her in a raspy voice, "is to give you this."

His hand that was holding a violet colored gem reached towards her and passed through the surface of the mirror. Eyes widening, Arya almost screamed at the incredible sight. She stumbled back when the mirror's surface rippled outwards from the man's arm.

"This isn't real," Arya shook her head in denial but didn't take her eyes off the magical man.

"Just take it. Look into it until you can see yourself in its facets," the man said. His smile was growing wider by the moment. Arya felt like she couldn't make her legs move, in spite of the frantic voice in her head that was shouting at her to run. When she began having trouble to even breathe, suddenly, the loo door swung open, and Arya's teacher stepped inside. 

"Stark?" she asked, startled. "Shouldn't you be getting home? I saw your sister leaving already"

Somehow the teacher's quizzical expression cut through the terror that had been keeping Arya in place. With a stunned expression, she looked back at the mirror, but the man was gone. Blinking, she took a breath and nodded to the teacher.

"Yes, ma'am," Arya said. She bit her bottom lip for a moment and gestured to the fallen bag. "I came in looking for J-Jeyne, I think she dropped her things," she added, wanting to get out of there.

"I'll take them to the lost and found," the teacher assured her. "Now move along."

Nodding, Arya rushed out of the loo. It only took her a few moments to escape out the front doors. Turning, Arya looked back up at the academy with a frightened expression.

"I'm going mad," Arya whispered to herself, shivering softly despite the warm day.

She began looking for her siblings, trying to tame the impulse to run home. A group of her fellow dance classmates, who were a little older, was waiting at the corner for the bus, chatting as if nothing was wrong. Arya approached them, figuring it was best to stay with a group than to stay alone, but she didn't need to stay long.

"Arya," a voice called. "Arya!"

She turned to see Robb looking down at her with concern. His mouth was twisted in a frown, and he seemed almost ready to grab her. He'd been in his boxing lessons at the same academy, so he was sweating a little.

"Sorry Robb," Arya gave him a quick hug.

"You alright?" he asked, studying her expression carefully. "Anything wrong?"

"I'm fine," Arya assured him. "I was at the loo. Robb, I think Jeyne is missing too."

A look of concern passed over Robb's face and he looked around at the children with them.

"Hey, has anyone seen Jeyne Poole?" he asked loudly, getting everyone's attention. "Sansa has been looking for her."

Most of them ignored him, but a couple of the other children denied seeing the girl. 

"We should stay together right now," Robb told them with a frown.

"She's fine-" a girl Arya recognized as another of Sansa's friends started to say until Arya cut her off.

"Robb's right! We should be looking out for each other." Arya shook her head and slipped her hands into her pockets as they started to shake. "We don't need any more of us vanishing like Mycah."

Soft murmurs could be heard asking who Mycah was when the kids started boarding the bus that had just arrived. Robb grabbed Arya's hand and pulled her towards their mother's car. The ill feeling in her stomach was growing stronger with each passing minute, and Arya was beginning to recognise it was dread. She finally started breathing again when the car pulled away. She didn’t engage in the conversation her mother and Sansa were having, she didn't have the energy right now, and in light of what just happened, she couldn't focus. Turning back to Robb, Arya was about to tell him everything in hopes he would assure her she wasn’t crazy. But then, she didn't know how to put it into words. Her mouth dried up and her mind went blank.

As Arya had feared, the police came around later that night trying to find Jeyne who had vanished from the academy. The bag found in the bathroom was identified as hers, but no one had seen the girl since the end of her ballet lesson. Cat had not been pleased when an officer sat her younger daughter down and began to ask her a long series of questions. He explained that the CCTV cameras in the academy hadn’t seen anyone enter the bathroom except Jeyne, Arya and the teacher. 

Taking a deep breath, Arya's painful attempt of explaining began. She told the man that she had seen a man a couple of times, including when Jeyne had vanished, which picked everyone's attention. Years later, Arya would give the man credit for listening calmly as long as he did when she started explaining the scene in the loo, but he finally looked up at her parents, who were watching her with concerned expressions, and told them he didn't have time to listen to a child's fantasy when others were missing. Shaking, Arya was quiet when the man insisted that CCTV had not recorded any man like the one she had described at the academy or the street when Jeyne and Mycah vanished. 

Arya leaned her forehead on her hands, trying not to cry. Someone that no one else could see wasn’t a good thing at all, and a small part of Arya wondered once again if she was going mad. Her Mom said that the stress was probably making her see things, and soothingly ran her fingers through Arya's hair.

When the police left the house, Cat made Arya’s favourite for dinner and everyone chatted frantically trying to keep her and Sansa distracted, which failed utterly. At one moment Sansa started crying and left the table. Arya also excused herself after she finished her meal assuring her parents that while she was worried, she was alright and just needed some sleep. They didn’t argue with her and Arya headed down the hall to her room. As she changed into her pyjamas, she listened to her parents’ voice and to everyone's movements throughout the house which calmed her slightly, and she managed a small smile.

Sighing, Arya stretched out over her bed and pulled out a worn sketchbook. She flipped it open, pausing to see a boy's sketched smile on the first page. Arya didn't draw very well, so she never let anyone look in the book, not even Robb or her Dad. When she found a blank page, she carefully began to draw the man from before, thinking of what happened. A knock on her door made her look up and call that they could come in. Robb stepped into the room and chuckled as he glanced around the room.

"Your room is so messy," he teased. Arya shrugged shamelessly. "So, how are you?"

“I’m fine Robb,” Arya told him. "You must think I'm barmy, but what I said before, it's the truth, about him coming out of the mirror. But nobody else can see him until it's too late. Or maybe it's just the grown-ups who can't see him. I don't know, I’m just-”

“Worried,” Robb said with a sad smile and a nod. “Mycah was- is your best mate and Jeyne is Sansa's. Plus the police talking to you must have been tough.”

“Yeah,” Arya agreed softly. She lowered her eyes for a moment, the sight of that man flashing in front of her. A shiver went down her spine, and she decided to show her drawing to Robb. “That's what he looked like. Be careful okay?”

Robb looked at it thoughtfully but Arya could see that he didn't believe her entirely. They were both quiet for a moment before Robb gave her a hug, whispered his good night and left her room. When the door closed, Arya opened her sketchbook back up and looked down at her attempt to draw the man's face. Shivering, she closed the book and tossed it across the room, hearing it thump to the floor with a spark of satisfaction. 

She didn't want to worry her Mom and Dad even more, so she crawled under her duvet and pretended to be sleeping when she heard them coming to check in on her. After they were gone, Arya rubbed her eyes, telling herself that if she fell asleep it was very likely that her parents would find her gone the next day. Hours crawled by while she stared at the window and tried to stay awake, but finally, slowly, sleep took her.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for the comments on the last chapter. I'm flattered that it has picked so much attention! Reactions like that motivated me a lot, so I decided to post this chapter a little ahead of time (my plan is to update once a week, I hope I can do it).  
> Sadly there was no Jon this time, but on the next he'll appear, along with some explanations hehe


	3. The House of the Undying

Arya found herself, dressed in her pyjamas and without shoes, in a stone anteroom with four doors, one on each wall. It was dark and cold but, gathering her courage, Arya stepped through each door. In all of them she found a small antechamber with four doors, identical to one another and to the one she came from. Could this be magic? 

As she contemplated this the image of the pale man appeared suddenly like smoke in front of Arya, shimmering in the little light of the antechamber. She could only stare in shock as the dark smoke swirled together, creating the tall man dressed all in black leather. His blue, sinister smile, showed teeth that were sharp as he leered down at her. A scream caught in her throat.

"You're finally here, Promised one," he whispered. “Welcome to the House of the Undying.”

“W-Who are you?” Arya managed to ask.

“A mere servant and messenger, Pyat Pree,” he answered bowing his head.

“My friends?” Arya whispered in turn. She pressed herself against the wall, unable to look away. “Are they here?” She felt tears starting to prick at her eyes.

“They are sleeping somewhere between this world and yours,” the man hissed the words with a terrible smile, “they'll fade away after some time has passed.” He stepped closer to Arya and whispered darkly, “but it's you we wanted and now, Arya Stark, it's your turn to enter."

A scream caught in Arya's throat as his long figure began to advance on her from across the room. She closed her eyes tightly, but then a warm hand grabbed Arya's in a tight, but gentle grip. She turned to meet a pair of steel grey eyes looking down at her.

“Run!"

Arya’s rescuer was a boy taller than her with dark brown hair and a dragon embroidered in his clothes. He kept a tight grip on her hand as he pulled through one of the doors. Arya ran as fast as she could alongside him. She could barely see anything, but the assurance that she was getting away from the pale man kept Arya moving. They entered a stairwell and began to climb. 

Her legs were aching when the stairs finally opened. To her right, a set of wide wooden doors down a long corridor had been thrown open. The unknown boy slowed to a stop and released her hand. Panting, Arya leaned against a wall. After catching her breath, she looked up at him, he was looking down at her with a curious and slightly amused expression. With a start she realized she had seen him before, but couldn't quite place him.

“Thank you,” Arya said as she found her voice. 

"You're welcome, my lady," he replied.

“Er, I'm sorry, but do I know you?”

"Only a little," he gave her a tiny cryptic smile as his eyes scanned her. “You’re not hurt, are you?” 

“No.” Arya shook her head quickly and took another breath, urging her heart rate to slow. “Just out of breath.” She frowned a little, her mind replaying everything that had happened. “He said it was me he was after.”

“No wonder,” the boy observed. His grin widened as he studied her. “Just escaped and already is trying to sort it all out calmly.”

"Not really calm," Arya suddenly gave a dry sob and hugged herself while she started shaking. “Sorry.”

"Don't apologize," he said gently. "You were very brave."

"Who are you?" She asked more strongly.

"My name is Jon," the name and his looks tugged at her memory, like a dream long forgotten. "We met about a year ago, you were so young. Still are, actually."

"...Jon Targaryen, from Westeros," the memory insisted. She suddenly felt a lot safer. "Is this a dream?"

"No, my lady," he answered with a soft smile. "This is my world, and you're an Outsider. I don't know how, but that's the best way I can explain it, even after a year trying to figure it out."

"The pale man, Pyat Pree, he said Mycah and Jeyne were sleeping between this world and mine… I don't get it," she shook her head. "None of this feels real, I must be dreaming again."

"You came here through a dream. I did too, though I also don't understand how, sorcery is not something easily explained. But if I may say so," he paused and looked into her eyes, "I'm happy to be able to see you again, even if you barely remember me." 

Arya blushed a little. "I'm sorry I forgot about you."

"It's to be expected my lady," he said. "If you were me, however, it would be hard for you to forget about a little girl dressed with strange clothes suddenly appearing at the castle and then vanishing into thin air."

"I vanished?! I don't remember that," she thought back and only recalled drawing the remnants of a weird dream in her sketchbook.

Before Jon could answer, they heard a noise. Carefully, he gripped Arya’s shoulder and pushed her behind him. 

"What should we do?” Arya whispered.

“Maybe we can still save your friends,” he answered. His voice was low, and he was keeping himself protectively between Arya and the other rooms. She, however, thought it would be safer to hold his hand again, and did it, finding courage to face the path beyond.

The long hall went on and on and on, with endless doors to her left and only torches to her right. Some doors were closed and far ahead they could see a lot of others that were open. Arya could hear sounds that made her hair stand up on the back of her neck. Jon's head moved as he followed the sounds, and when they stopped he gave her hand a squeeze. 

“A sorcerer has warned me about this place,” Jon whispered. “We will see many things here. Visions of loveliness and visions of horror, wonders and terrors. Sights and sounds of days gone by and days to come and days that never were. We must enter no room until we reach what we are looking for or we'll be lost in the in-between.”

Arya nodded as her mind grasped that concept. "C'mon, we need to save them," she said.

They decided to ignore the closed doors. Beyond the first open one there was a sight that Arya could not understand.

At first she thought she was seeing herself; there was a slim, dark haired and long faced girl rubbing a tear-stained face while looking in the mirror. But that couldn’t be right. The walls were made of stone, the furniture were made of wood and the girl was wearing a woolen dress. Arya had never been in that place, nor had she dressed like that before. The girl turned around as a door opened to her left and a figure very much like Arya’s own father appeared.  _ What’s going on? _

“Lyanna,” the man said, which startled Jon. “You have to give up, daughter. Eddard is lost to us, the Old Gods took your brother.”

“He can’t be! He’ll come back, I know it,” she exclaimed and ran, leaving the room.

Arya wanted to follow her, but Jon stopped her. “Remember, we cannot enter or we’ll be lost.”

“That girl looked a lot like me and the man was just like my father, even though my Dad’s larger and doesn’t have a beard. But my Dad’s name is Eddard!” she was very confused.

“My Mother’s name is Lyanna,” Jon answered. "I think that was her, a long time ago."

"But then… do you think her Eddard is my father?" Arya asked startled.

"Maybe one of the other doors has the answer," Jon said, sounding uncertain. They moved forward, hurrying quickly past the closed doors. 

The next sight made them pause. A long stone table filled this room and surrounding it there were people that were talking to and over each other. They seemed to be arguing about the arrival and the need to harbor people that were coming from the north. The discussion was clearly escalating, until two people made gestures that seemed to magically summon huge beasts. A black stag and a great lion were suddenly attacking one another, while the people around the room cheered or shouted at them to stop. Chaos seemed to be ruling, but then a dragon and an enormous wolf appeared and broke the fight. Everyone turned to look at a teenager who stood at the end of the table. Arya and Jon gasped in tandem as they realized that they were looking at an older version of Jon.

"My Lords, I think we can all agree that there is no need for this hostility," he was saying with authority. "My brother's decree is final after all."

"Then will you also do as the king ordered, Your Grace?" A man with long grey hair asked. "Will you obey and become a wildling's betrothed?"

After a pause the older Jon lowered his eyes and nodded. "I will do as my king commands."

"They are wildlings, my prince!" Another man exclaimed. "Savages!"

"They were born on the wrong side of the wall," the older Jon said. "That doesn't make them monsters."

Arya and Jon could not witness the rest of the conversation, since the door they were looking through closed all of a sudden. 

Arya looked back behind her. The torches were going out, she realized with a start of fear. Jon seemed to be pondering what he saw in the room, looking intently at the closed door. Another torch guttered out, bringing the darkness toward them a little faster. And as Arya listened it seemed as if she heard something else coming, steps. Terror filled her. Pyat Pree and his blue smile could be following them this hole time.

"Jon!" He snapped out of his trance. "The torches are going out!" 

"I think I know what to look for now," he said.

Yet another torch went out as he pulled her by the hand. They started running down the corridor once more, and the sounds grew faintly louder, echoing their steps. They ran past more doors than Arya could count, closed doors and open ones. Another torch went out. Another. Arya was beginning to lose hope when she found herself in front of… a modern aluminum door, unlike all the others that seemed to belong to Jon's world. 

It was a blue double-swing door, with the red cross painted underneath its glass windows. Arya flung herself through, pulling Jon along. She was dizzy and out of breath once more, so Arya didn't understand at first what she was looking at, but at last she knew-- they had entered a large hospital ward, just like the one she saw in a movie once. There were rows of beds with people connected to various kinds of equipments and a few doctors and nurses tending to them.

"W-where are we?" Jon asked, seeming to be the one out of sorts for once.

"In a hospital," Arya replied. "It's where people go to when they're injured or ill in my world."

"It seems that they cannot see us," Jon remarked after a nurse reached for a syringe next to his shoulder. "Shall we look at the people that are being tended to?"

They indeed were not noticed by the patients nor the staff. Arya thought there were no acquaintances amidst the people there, but soon discovered she was wrong.

"No!" Arya cried in horror and surged forward as she realized the four patients in a corner were her family. "Dad! Mom! Robb! Sansa!" She called them in agony, gently shaking her parents shoulder.

They were laid on the hospital beds, wires all over them and with tubes in their mouths. Their faces were deathly pale, but they still looked very calm, peaceful even, despite all the beeping noises and the fluorescent light of that infirmary. 

"This can't be happening!" She turned around and saw Jon looking worriedly at her. "What can I do?"

"It seems like this is just another vision, they can't hear you," he lamented.

"But you can prevent it," an unexpected voice told them.

They turned around to see Pyat Pree entering the room, his sinister blue smile back in his face.

"You stay away from Arya!" Jon snatched her hand again, yanking Arya behind him.

"What do you want from me?" Arya asked, peering around Jon's arm.

"Why, to give you a gift of course!" The man smiled a feral sneer. "You didn't take it before." He disappeared like smoke and reappeared behind Arya. "Now we can welcome you properly."

They both spun, Arya and Jon, but he had vanished again.

"Over here!" They turned again, and the man stood by the entrance of the room. "Hello!" He waved his fingers tauntingly. Suddenly, all the patients they had passed through up until that point, maybe ten or twelve people, jerked to a sitting position and began to rise from their beds. 

An old man in rich robes that stood closer to them smiled. "Jon of House Targaryen, Arya of House Stark, be welcome. Come and join us. We are the Undying of Qarth."

"Long have we awaited you," said a woman beside him, clad in rose and silver. "We knew you were to come to us. A thousand years ago we knew, and have been waiting all this time."

"We have knowledge to share with you," said another man with a white beard, "and magic weapons to arm you with. You have passed every trial. Now come and walk with us, and all your questions shall be answered."

"What happens if we don't?" Arya asked but the strangers gave no reply, merely tilting their heads to the side in complete sync.

"What have you done to her family?" Jon asked, pulling Arya closer to him by her hand and watching them warily as they drew nearer.

A loud clatter drew their attention back to Arya's family. Their bodies were writhing about, their limbs jerking, and their heads raising up off the pillow and thudding back down again. A loud beeping noise indicated their heart rates were all going wild. Abruptly the bag of fluid trailing into her Dad's arm burst, and the needle in his vein shot out. It stuck into the wall across the room.

"Stop!" Arya exclaimed. 

The doctors, still seeming oblivious to the scene unfurling in the room, grabbed a set of defibrillator paddles and were about to shock Ned, when his heart rate returned in a slow weak rhythm. 

When she turned around to see why the strangers had stopped, Arya gasped. Jon had one hand raised, like he was trying to reach something on the opposite wall. She started at the sight of something moving in their direction and realized it was the needle they saw flying mere moments before. The needle was growing and growing and growing and became similar to a sword, which Jon caught in the air, as if he had summoned it. He knew how to make magic too!

Jon didn't waste another second and started fighting one of the man who hopped off the bed and sauntered over to them with his own sword in hand. Jon obviously knew what he was doing, but it wasn't enough, since the two children were surrounded in the blink of an eye. 

"You can stop this, Arya Stark," Pyat Pree was behind her once more. "You can prevent your family's decay, save the prince and take your friends home." With a hand he gestured to the far end of the room, where Mycah and Jeyne laid with their eyes closed in their own hospital beds.

"What do I have to do?" Arya gasped. She didn't trust him, but now Jon was trying to fight two people at once. He had pierced one of the attackers already, to no effect.

"This is yours." Pyat Pree was whispering now. He once again offered Arya the purple gem. "Just take it," he deposited it in her waiting hands. "If you see yourself and your friends reflected in its facets the three of you will return home and Jon Targaryen will be able to wake up."

Jon fell on the floor, looking exhausted. Arya had to act now, she had to save him. She ran across the room and positioned herself between Mycah and Jeyne.

"Jon!" Arya turned to him, tears streaming down her face. Their eyes landed on each other. He looked startled and gasped her name. "Wake up!" She screamed to him and turned her eyes to the gem.

When she saw her face and her friends' reflected in the gem, her vision exploded. A wild howl echoed around her. She was burning. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think! All she saw was Jon screaming her name.

"ARYA!" 

She sat bolt upright in bed, the howl still echoing in her head. She slowly became aware of the voice calling her name softly and the soft hand on her cheek.

“Arya, it’s alright, it was a dream,” the voice said softly. “You’re here, darling, you’re safe, it’s alright.”

Chest still heaving, she looked up into her Mom’s concerned eyes and then looked around at all her family, that was surrounding her. She tried to wrap her tiny arms around all of them as her parents continued to whisper soothingly in her ear and stroke her head gently. Slowly, she began to calm down and breathing became easier as her hammering heart slowed to a more normal rate. But then she felt something in her left hand and gasped as she managed to unclench her fist, looking at what she had been desperately holding. It was the purple gemstone.


	4. Camping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has read, left kudos, and commented! It really kept me motivated.
> 
> Here's a long chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy it!

Many things had changed about Arya Stark's life since her return from the House of the Undying a year ago, even if she was the only one who believed her own story about the place. Everyone considered she had had a nightmare induced by the stress caused by the other children’s disappearance, thus proceeding to immediately dismiss her stories when Mycah and Jeyne had been found on the next day. Well, everyone except Ned.

When she had mentioned the name Lyanna, Ned had been visibly intrigued. He had wrapped his hands around Arya's shoulder and asked where she had heard that name before. She hadn't. After retelling the scene from her dream, suggesting that Lyanna could be his sister, Arya watched as her father simply sighed and told her that he'd like to hear more about those kinds of dreams. Arya had questioned him about it, but he had only said it was a name that sounded familiar. Father was an orphan, Robb reminded her later, and he had no memories from his life before the orphanage.

Memory loss was something that seemed to be recurrent for the people in Arya's life, since Mycah and Jeyne had completely forgotten about Pyat Pree's kidnapping. Their disappearance had remained an unsolved mystery, since the police had not managed to explain their memory loss or who had caused it, even after questioning them both many, many times. Since they had seemed unharmed by the experience, the adults seemed to be letting it go.

Most of the time Arya did not think about Jon, knowing that she might never see the mysterious boy ever again. Sometimes she second guessed herself, wondering if she had indeed imagined the whole thing. She wished that she knew more about Jon and his world, but as the year passed she was gradually accepting that he would probably always remain a mystery.

Arya’s once messy room had also shifted over the year. A large mirror with dozens of photos displaying her friends and her family in its frame was now used to practice various moves every day. Her vanity had been swapped out for a plain wooden desk and a comfortable chair, where she spent a lot of time writing about her day to day life and about scenes from her imagination. 

A tall, narrow bookshelf held her schoolbooks and a few adventure books that she’d collected from her brother’s room. One shelf held a wooden music box that her Mom had given her as a Christmas present, filled with little packages of makeup. The content had been stacked and forgotten in a smaller box, but the wooden box was large enough to hold Arya’s adventure journal and the purple gemstone. Her normal life diary sat on the same shelf, and Arya made an effort to make an entry everyday, along with the retelling of her dreams. Compared to what was tucked away in the other one, this journal seemed a little dull, but Arya didn’t want to take the risk and forget something that could indicate that another adventure was about to happen.

School wore her out with mandatory socializing and a hefty schedule of academics and extra-curriculars. Arya discovered that she enjoyed studying math and her spelling was equally good, given the amount of time she dedicated to writing now. She tried to like learning everything else just the same, but the rest of her energies were mostly dedicated to ballet and kung fu. Still, she worked hard in school, much to her teachers' confusion. She asked lots of questions, too many questions for a nine year old, despite the unamused looks that were shot at her by the rest of the class. But she wanted to be prepared for whatever came her way, so she continued with her questioning and ignored the sour looks and comments.

The ability to enjoy her extra curricular activities without the fear of being considered annoying wasn't the only reason why she enjoyed them so much. She liked ballet a lot, even though she had been forced to do it by her mother at first. This year the both of them had reached an agreement, mediated by her father— Arya would not stop attending her ballet classes as long as she could also join a martial arts class. In ballet she was developing a lot of movement skills, becoming increasingly confident in her agility, balance and coordination, which was probably the reason for her rapid success in kung fu. Arya would love ballet a lot more if everyone stopped comparing her to her sister, who had essentially been born to be a ballerina. 

Overall, Arya never would have complained about her life. Well, maybe a little about Sansa's nagging, but nowadays their arguments tended to involve some mild criticism to Arya's performance in ballet that she was learning to ignore. 

It was an ordinary Thursday, and Arya sighed in distraction, contemplating her nine year old life after finishing her homework. She pushed those thoughts aside as she checked the eight times table and stretched in her chair. She decided to take a break before beginning to practice the kung fu movements she'd learned that day and marched down the wide, curved staircase, ignoring the polished bannister in favor of skipping down the stairs two at a time, so used to the descent she could have done it in her sleep.

She found Robb watching the telly and joined him. He’d been on the basketball court, if his sweaty mane of ginger hair and drenched, sleeveless t-shirt were any indicators, and he looked worn out. A few minutes later Sansa was sitting on the other side of the sofa, declaring that she had absolutely nothing to do. The trio looked extremely bored. 

After finding them like that Ned promptly decided it was the perfect opportunity to take his children out camping. He'd been planning to do it for a while now, so it wasn't hard to arrange everything. Ned had already taught them the basics, like how to fish, make a fire and arm a tent. They had even done a backyard campout once. An admirer of survival programs, he had always encouraged the kids to be self-sufficient, and was thrilled to finally take them to what he hoped to be the first of many trips.

"Can't we make s'mores over the stove burners in the kitchen?" Sansa asked as a last resource after advocating for them to just visit the forest by day and return to sleep in their comfy beds at night.

“You can’t make proper s’mores if you aren’t camping, Sansa,” Robb said shaking his head. “It’s the only way. Everybody knows that.”

Sansa kept mumbling about the lack of adequate bathroom facilities and other difficulties they would find through the rest of the week, and she kept mumbling until they reached their destination. Catelyn had already made plans with her sister (or so she said), but insisted Sansa should go for what could very well be an excellent family adventure. 

When they arrived in the campsite that Ned had booked, and then in the forest, Arya trudged off through the trees along her siblings while their father walked ahead and, after walking for quite some time, they finally found a clearing. Twigs and branches of varying sizes were scattered somewhat loosely around, which would be easy enough to gather for the fire, and there was a relatively large flat space free of too much debris for them to pitch their tents.

Arya turned toward the sound of a stream, then up at the trees, some bare, some still gold and orange. It was peaceful and thrilling to be there. Sansa and Ned were setting up the two tents, and Arya had started collecting the fallen branches. Once she'd filled her arms with as much as she could carry, she walked back to the tent, where her dad had encouraged Robb to start a fire. 

They explored their surroundings, discovering a pond not too far from their campsite and a huge fallen tree hosting a lot of little animals that ran away when they approached. Sansa half-jokingly asked if they would have to hunt for supper or eat bugs. Since it was already getting dark, they decided to return to the fire and finally eat the long-awaited s’mores and other snacks. The fire cracked and popped with an irregularity that was almost rhythmic. It was a night full of laughter and conversation, until Robb decided to tell a spooky story about a woman that lived in the woods called Lady Stoneheart. 

Arya knew he was making it up, but couldn't stop the cold chill running down her spine. The light cast by the fire drew shadows on her face, enhancing her terrified and awed expressions as she listened intently to Robb, who sat perfectly still among them telling his story. Taking pity of his youngest child, Ned interrupted him, advising them all to go to sleep. Sansa excused herself to adjust the tent.

"Should I put more wood on the fire?" Arya asked with a small voice.

"That one there." Ned pointed. "It'll burn all night."

Robb picked up the good-sized piece of wood for her and laid it in the flames, and Arya wished for the night to be over and for the reassuring light of the morning to appear. She entered the tent she would share with Sansa and realized her sister wasn't there as she had presumed. Afraid that something had happened, she turned around and exited. She let out a shaky breath as she tried to calm down her nerves, but froze momentarily when a woman with long messy hair and a face white as a sheet sprang out from the ground right in front of her. Arya didn't waste time— the adrenaline rush allowed her to grab the woman's arms and, with a swing, to leap over her shoulder, using the momentum to bring her down. A startled yelp with a voice Arya knew all too well prevented her from delivering a punch. It was Sansa with flour on her face! 

For the next hour the girls yelled angrily at each other, Sansa rolling her eyes saying that Arya couldn't take a joke and Arya telling Sansa that the next time she wouldn't refrain. Ned and Robb, knowing how they got when they started fighting, tried to placate them, but gave up when Sansa lashed out telling Arya she used martial arts to compensate, because she wasn't good in anything else. The younger Stark girl snapped her mouth shut with an audible click as she glared at the older one. Without saying another word, she entered the tent and got into her sleeping bag, hoping to fall asleep quickly. The last thing she heard was her father telling her sister how disappointed he was.

And yet, she was having the most pleasant dream that night. She was strangely aware of the forest floor beneath her bare feet. Her fingertips brushed the gnarled bark of trees. When she breathed, her lungs filled with the deep, earthy scents of the forest.

Then Arya opened her eyes.

She found herself alone amongst the trees, sunshine filtering through them. Everything was so peaceful, the sound of small creatures scurrying through soothed her. Then she followed the sound of trickling water and discovered a stream that seemed to be calling to her. She answered immediately, splashing into it, the sudden shock of cold against her toes breathtakingly wonderful. 

There was a boy, there in the forest, sitting with his back against a tree that was very close to the stream. It took her a few moments to notice him, but the sight of him didn't scare her. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her, with soft and curious eyes. She looked back at him, chewing on her lip. He looked like someone she knew, but she couldn't place him. It would take weeks until she figured it out— he had her mother looks, thanks to his thick auburn hair and deep blue eyes.

They didn’t speak, simply continuing to stare at one another quietly for a moment. Then he brought a finger to his lips in a silent gesture for her to be quiet and pointed up. She glanced to the sky, not knowing what to look for, and glanced back at him.

‘There,’ he mouthed, and she understood that he was pointing to a tree.

She glanced up again, this time to the side, and there, on the high branch of a tree, sat a huge crow, that looked bigger than any crow she had ever seen.

"Oh," she breathed, astonished. The boy grinned, but gestured for her to be quiet once more.

‘Wait,’ he mouthed.

Arya waited, her feet in the stream, her eyes on the crow. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for exactly, but there was a promise in the boy’s eyes and a mystery in the atmosphere that kept her body still, afraid that even the smallest of movements could disturb the intriguing creature. She glanced back at the boy, who —rather than looking at the bird— had his eyes closed.

She was soon rewarded for her patience. The boy opened his arms as if he would fly, even from a seated position. Above them, the crow opened his beak and shrieked her name before spiraling down to the floor. It caught a blue wild flower on the ground and flew back to the tree, dropping the flower on Arya's hair on the way. It was wonderful and unexpected, and Arya admired the flower before turning back to the boy, who was smiling too. Smiling at her.

"For you," he said, his voice low.

Arya looked back to the bird, still sitting above them, before making her way over to the boy.

"I'm Bran," he offered. 

"I'm Arya," she replied. The crow echoed her name once more. "How did you do that?" she asked, and Bran smiled at her. 

"That is a skill I've been learning for some time now," he answered. "It feels as natural to me as your abilities feel to you."

"Ability? As in talent?" Sansa's words came back to haunt her. "I don't have any."

"You certainly do," he replied. "I can show you if you want," he said, extending his hand.

"How old are you?" Arya asked. "I'm nine years old, but you speak as if you were older."

"I'm seven," Bran offered simply, his hand still extended.

Arya leaned down to hold it. When their fingers touched, images of her clumsiness, childhood awkwardness came to mind, listening to loud music and air guitaring with Robb, and looking in the mirror while Sansa applied makeup for her, feeling inadequate, followed by thudding down the stairs in a rush, cheering loudly for her brother who was playing basketball, watching old pictures of her mom dancing. Just daily noises that made up her living in her home.  _ Not that _ , Bran seemed to say in her mind.

And then she remembered moments she had been proud of herself, like the time she demonstrated her knowledge of kung fu by knocking Theon down on his bum when he teased her while his sister, Asha, applauded. Then the time her ballet teacher explained that while Arya didn't stick to the discipline that ballet requires for perfection, she danced with passion and little effort, which was very good too.

"And most importantly, there was the time when you saved your friends by escaping the House of the Undying." Bran said in front of her.

“Sometimes I think that was just a dream,” Arya said dazedly.

"Do you want it to be?" asked Bran.

"No," she replied shaking her head. "I still have the gemstone, back at home. And I'm glad I met Jon, he was amazing. I wish I could see him again," she said distractedly watching the sky. "But how do you know about that? You were speaking to me in my head... Are you a wizard?"

When she looked at him he smiled sadly at her. Suddenly the crow took to the air and landed on Arya's shoulder. She looked at it, and the crow looked back. He had three eyes, she realized startled. Then everything faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the delay! Members of my family were sick and I was too worried to write. They are fine now, but the world is such a scary place these days that I've been having a hard time to think positive thoughts. Still, I appreciate you taking the time to read this and I hope you're all staying safe and healthy.


	5. Pups in the forest

The first thing Arya noticed when she opened her eyes was that the forest was different. Before, the trees were lined with speckles of orange, red and yellow, and sunlight cascaded to the forest floor practically unhindered. Now, the trees seemed taller and the air thicker. The path ahead was decorated with outgrown roots, strange wildflowers and fallen leaves that crunched beneath her bare feet.

"Jon," her attention was brought to a bird, the same crow from before, it seemed, flapping its big black wings. The bird was perched high on a tree and was looking at Arya, but from afar she couldn't tell if it had three eyes. "Jon, Jon."

"You want me to find Jon?" Arya asked. "Where is he?"

"North," croaked the crow. The bird flapped across the branches to land on Arya's shoulder. A third eye looked at her ominously. "North," it said again, stopping to nip at a strand of her hair.

Worry infused her. She didn't know which direction was north, but the crow was already taking flight, and she hoped he’d guide her. Was this bird even being controlled by Bran, like before? And where was he, her newest friend? Should she trust him? Or the crow? 

She trusted them. Her mom taught her many years ago that she shouldn't trust strangers, but Bran didn't feel like a stranger. Why would he show her the trick with the crow if he didn't mean for her to follow it now? It didn't seem like a coincidence it was chanting Jon's name when Arya had been talking about him minutes (hours?) ago with Bran. Besides, standing alone in an unknown forest didn't feel like a good alternative anyway. With that in mind she began walking, hoping to find answers. 

Her confidence ended when the forest became denser, and she stepped onto a path leading into more heavily treed woods. Under the darkness of these trees anything could happen, and she dearly hoped that she wasn't misplacing her trust in the crow. As she trundled deeper into the shadows of the forest, Arya took in the musky smell of moss and decaying leaves and tried to keep track of the direction they were headed. Rays of sunlight managed to keep the path ahead somewhat visible, but they weren’t pushing through the crowded, leafy branches above them with any strength, and it wasn’t long before it became difficult to see.

What grew progressively more worrying, though, was how quickly her throat began to dry up as she continued to walk. The rays of sunshine that filtered through, and had been providing nothing more than a comforting warmth before, now seemed to stretch and wring dry every inch of skin it touched. Arya lost count of how many times she licked at her lips. She didn't even remember ever considering drink or food in dreams.

A sudden rustle in the bushes off to her left made Arya jump. The crow shrieked for her to 'Run!' and flew toward the noise; after a while it took flight once more with something in its beak, but went quickly in the opposite direction. That confused Arya and filled her with dread. She followed for as long as she could, but soon lost sight of him, so after pausing to control her panic, she forced herself to continue on the path she thought the crow was pointing to before, although she wasn’t sure; she only knew that she needed to go on. Her thirst was equally persistent.

For a while, Arya attempted to distract herself with the thought that, when she woke up, the first thing she would do would be to grab a bottle of soda and down it in one. Oh no, she couldn't do that– she was camping with her family in the real world, and soda was something that they hadn't packed. The thought grew rapidly less comforting as the thirst began to tear her throat in two. She grimaced and coughed, but there was no escape from that relentless longing for liquid. 

And then, suddenly, she reached a river that seemed to go on and on crossing the path she had been following like a shining silver thread. The water weaved its way through small, slick rocks, and vibrant green weeds and was slow-moving and clear enough for her to see that it held no obvious dangers, laying only a foot or two deep, so she didn't bother looking for some way past it. Her feet were already hurting, and she feared the sun setting. 

She carefully dipped her leg into the water, far enough to stir some slick rocks that made up its bed. The water was as cool as silk, as she had anticipated, and came barely halfway up to her knee, easily shallow enough to cross. She had resigned already to the discomfort of feeling thirsty, but seeing such clear, wonderful water in her path caused her throat to itch even more. It felt deliciously cool as she knelt to scoop some in her palm– just a mouthful to soothe that itch and wet her dry lips, she decided.

However, the moment the water touched her lips, Arya felt tendrils spreading through her chest, like fingers of fire coiling around her heart. “No,” she moaned, as her very skin seemed to catch fire, smothering her with its feverish hold.

The trees started speaking in their own language, brushing together to create sound. The more rational part of her brain tried to tell her it was just the wind, but soon the strange noises appeared to be calling her name– was that Jon calling her? Then that rational part, too, caught fire, and she took off running after the voice, real or not.

Her feet went crashing through mud and grass and stony earth, stumbling over jutting tree roots and rocks. Her hands deflected the worst of the low branches that lunged and lashed at her face and arms but did nothing to slow her. Through her mad journey a voice called out to her from between the trees, always just beyond her reach.

At last, the mass of endless trees in her path broke apart, disappearing into the sky, leaving her to run into bright, blessed sunlight. There was still no trace of Jon, but she could not stop herself, not even as her leading foot found no earth under it, and dropped away beneath her.

There was no sense of falling though, only a firm arm closing around her waist, pulling her, stumbling, back from the brink, and she felt herself drawn backwards, back into the shade of the trees, and against the solid, secure presence of her saviour’s body. His chin pressed hard against the top of her head, his chest a warm, heaving piston against her back. From the sound of the gasping breaths that tousled her hair, her saviour had been running, too.

“Gods, Arya! What were you thinking?” Jon. His real voice, here, against her. He seemed afraid, just like her. "Did you swallow the water?”

“No,” she replied uneasily. Everything was burning, still, but his presence grounded her. “J-just touched my lips-”

“Shh, don’t talk," he interrupted her. "Here,” he said, pressing something against her mouth. She didn’t even think, just accepted whatever it was. 

Blessed water. The fog around her thoughts lifted progressively as she drank it, the fire extinguishing as well. A few minutes passed before Arya felt more like herself, and she was still enclosed in Jon’s hold while she processed what had happened. Arya had seized his hand, holding it tightly, and Jon began to rub circles onto her hand with his thumb. Eventually, her discomfort ceased and her body relaxed somewhat.

When she felt strong enough to stand, she looked at the surroundings, discovering that they stood not five feet from a mossy, overhanging crag of rock, giving way to a jagged cliff-face that towered at least sixty feet above the rough ground below. She stared down with morbid fascination. 

“Come on,” Jon tugged urgently on her arm. Arya's heart was in her throat as she allowed herself to be led away from the edge.

Finally stopping to look up at him, she realized that he looked… awful. Not because he was a year older, but mostly because he sported dark circles around his eyes as if he hadn't slept in a while.

"Are you OK?" Arya blurted, which seemed to startle him. 

"You touch the Wendwater river, almost jump from a cliff, and it's me you're worried about?" Jon asked in disbelief. "You could have been seriously hurt. How are _you_?"

"I'm alright," she replied after considering his words. Although her thirst had dissipated, Arya had to admit her feet were hurting a lot. Not that her sore feet were a priority at the moment, but at least focusing on her tender toes took her mind off how scared she was. "Only my feet are hurting."

"You also have lots of bruises and scratches," Jon pointed out. "We shouldn't stay still for so long. Let me carry you."

She considered refusing, but feeling the need to get out from that spot quickly, nodded once. "Only for a few minutes until my feet stop hurting so much."

Arya hesitated only a minute, then mounted his back. Jon hoisted her easily up to his waist, securing her under the knee, and set off through the trees with sure, easy steps. She felt safe and comfortable, arms wrapped securely around his shoulders.

"How did you find me?" she asked curiously.

"Bran. He found me here in the kingswood a few minutes ago," he replied. "Er, it was a crow, but I know it. Him. It's hard to explain."

"You don't have to, I know Bran. Actually, I just met him," Arya replied. So he really was the crow. "He kind of brought me here after I mentioned your name. I think he was guiding me, but suddenly he flew away and I lost him."

"He seemed to be chasing something off. I hope he is well. But this forest is dangerous, he shouldn't have brought you here."

"Is he your friend?" Arya asked, wanting to understand what was happening.

"Aye, he's my friend," Jon replied. "But I don't really know him, we've only just met in dreams."

"Me too. I met him today. I think. Maybe I'm in a dream inside another dream?” she contemplated, and received a small chuckle as reply. A moment of silence followed while he dodged some branches. “I… I wonder what has… I don’t know… why I'm the only one who can come through. Nobody believed me about what happened a year ago,” Arya wondered aloud. “But I sort of get the feeling that there is a reason. For me being here, I mean,” she clarified.

She thought she heard a smile in his voice with his next comment. “Aye, there must be a reason. But I imagine you would be the best option anyway,” he posited. “You’re smart, and quick on your feet, and reliable,” he suggested.

Arya laughed. “How could you possibly know that?” she giggled. “You don't really know me. I could be… I don’t know… a troublemaker, or an evil witch,” she smiled.

“Oh, I highly doubt you’re either of those things,” Jon said, his voice light. "And I've known you for quite some time now, this is our third encounter after all."

“Yeah, I guess you're right,” she smiled. "Even though I don't remember a lot from the first one."

“Oh. I suppose you were too young," he suggested. "You were a small thing tucked in a corner of the kitchen," he seemed to reminisce. "Come to think of it, you continue to be very little, do you eat normally?"

“Oi,” she chastised, “I might be little, but I can still knock you down, you know? I mean, I don't want to, since you turned out to be a hero to my feet."

It was quiet for a moment before he said, “I’m sorry you’re in this situation, Arya, I really wish you hadn't been hurt," and then added, "but I’m not sorry that I got to know you."

He said that with such a sad inflection in his voice. The dark circles under his eyes came to her mind, and she wanted to ask him again if he was feeling well. Suddenly realizing she’d not replied, she said honestly, “Me too. I just wish we’d met at calmer situations, so you could tell me all about this place, and about yourself,” she lamented.

"I'm very intrigued to know more about you as well,” he shared.

“What if we stopped a little to do that?” she grinned. Jon had walked quickly and they had reached a clearing. "Besides, you should rest a few minutes. I may be skinny, but you must be tired."

She heard him huff as he slowed his steps. “You really don't have to worry about me carrying you, you are as light as a feather,” he mused.

“Nevertheless…" she pronounced the word slowly, "who knows when we'll reach another clearing and have the time to sit for a few minutes. And anyway, I reeeally want to talk, I've waited a year already and have so many questions."

A snort floated through the air, and he set her down. “Alright. I hate to disappoint, but I don't have a lot of answers for you. I still have no idea where you're from and how you got here. Then again, I had the time to research a little, so I might have something to share. Not that I found anything about a land called England (that's where you said you're from right?). But at least I can tell you about the Undying. Nasty warlocks from Qarth, we were lucky to escape so easily. I suppose it could've been worse. To live for centuries, they drain the energy from their enemies until there's nothing left. All around it could've been a complete catastrophe,” he rambled.

“You know you talk kinda fast,” Arya grinned, secretly loving the way he seemed to want to talk about what had been in his mind for some time.

Very slowly he answered, “Is that so?”

Arya laughed loudly this time. What a plum. After a few moments sitting in comfortable silence, she ventured, “Do you have magic powers?” she asked lightly, remembering his trick with the needle-turned-into-a-sword.

“Oh. Not really. I mean, outside from the lords of the realm, some people can do some out-of-the-ordinary feats once in a while, when they're in trouble, and I guess I'm one of them, but you have to study a lot to be considered someone who can yield magic,” he explained. “I haven't been able to repeat that,” he added.

“But then, don't you want to study to become a wizard?” Arya argued. If she could do magic, she would want to study in Hogwarts.

“No, I mean… I, er… can't. I have a duty, a role,” he clarified.

“Ohhh,” Arya intoned, now understanding. “You're a prince, right? I’m sure you’re the best kind of prince there is,” she smiled. “I’m sure you will be a wonderful king too,” she reasoned.

“Well… I appreciate the sentiment, but no. My brother will be king. Aegon. My half-brother, truly,” he clarified. "When I was younger my mother argued in my favour that I should have a master-of-magic teaching me the basics to defend myself, like Aegon had, but… well, at least there was a master-at-arms."

“Oh. Then you do have magic powers, you just don't know how to activate them, right?” she asked. "Your mother was right, you and your brother could have shared the lessons," Arya reasoned, thinking about Sansa and ballet. "Or is he much older and you couldn't share the teacher?"

"No, we're close in age," Jon replied quietly. "But that's the only front in which we're close. Aegon would've considered me a threat if I were to learn such a skill, and I don't want that," he sounded sad and resigned, but Arya didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't comment when he obviously attempted to change the topic. "What about you, did you ever perform some kind of magic, aside from travelling through different worlds?"

"No, there isn't magic in my world. I don't even know how I'm able to travel, I just… dream," she explained. "But maybe… My Dad has no memory of his childhood, but he could be from this place, right?"

"I asked my mother about the scene we witnessed in the House of the Undying. I'm sorry, but I don't know for sure," he replied. "She didn't recognize your father's name when I asked her about it," he said quietly and Arya noticed that his eyes were glistening. "But she didn't recognize anything in her last days."

"What?" Arya asked, and caught the motion of his uncomfortable swallow. "Is she—"

"Dead," he nodded. She watched him take a stabilizing breath before explaining, "it was an unknown illness," he clarified. "My Lord Father brought in every Maester he could find to help cure her disease," he added, swallowing. "It only took a fortnight until she passed."

He broke off, and Arya reached out, lightly touching his arm. She felt impossibly sad for him; and yet, she didn't know how to translate that sort of pain, even under normal circumstances, so she found herself lamentably empty-handed.

"You don't have to talk about her if you don't want to," she said quietly, and he shook his head in disagreement, not quite looking at her.

"You know, I spent almost a year trying not to think about it. So, that being the case," he exhaled sharply, "once I start it's hard to let her memory go." He looked so young and lost, it made Arya remember that he was only fourteen years old, same as Robb, maybe even younger, though he didn't act like it.

"Jon," she attempted softly, hoping he might hear something closer to I'm so sorry, and he glanced at her, forcing a smile.

"Sorry," he said. "We should go, right? It isn't safe here."

"No," she told him. "No, let's stay a little longer." She paused for a moment, catching the twitch of reservation at his jaw. "Tell me about her," she suggested, and he glanced at her, questioning. "I wish I'd met her. You can tell me anything. Everything." 

He smiled with gratitude, and it warmed her as much as it brought edges of softness to his face, relief pulling at the corners of his mouth. "She would have liked to know you are real," he said, clearing his throat and thinking, "the first time you got here, she arrived in my room only minutes after you disappeared. It took me a while to convince her I wasn't making it up, but after that she encouraged me to do some research and keep it only between the both of us."

"What about your father?" Arya asked, and Jon shook his head, the smile on his face diminishing.

"She loved my Lord Father, but didn't trust him," Jon explained. "Probably because he never allowed her to return home after they married."

"That's awful!" Arya exclaimed and Jon nodded. "And she still loved him all the same?"

"Well, it’s hard to say, but maybe the start of their relationship can explain it," he began, and though it must have been painful to recount, the smile on his face remained. "For starters, before they married my father was already considered a good ruler. And when they met, he was a widower with two children. My mother apparently had no interest in my father then. In fact, she was betrothed to someone else," he added, "but she broke the betrothal, and he continued to woo her through the years until he eventually won her over. Once, I asked how father convinced her (because there is no way she would've married him if she didn't want to), and she smiled as if it had all been worth it."

The warmth of the memory on Jon's face was enough to prompt Arya to smile herself. "How'd he do it?"

"With a truly abominable persistence. He named her the queen of love and beauty, he knew," he added with a wistful glance. "I heard that it is common knowledge, 'Rhaegar took one look at Lyanna and he knew,' and when she told him there was no way he could be so sure— because again," Jon said with a quiet laugh, "she was betrothed, and there was— there _are_ serious consequences to this day— my father just looked her in the eye and said, 'Take your time. I'm sure enough for both of us.'"

His smile faded for just a moment, fleetingly succumbing to obvious longing before forcefully engaging a brighter tone as he glanced at Arya.

"It doesn't sound so romantic when you know the outcome. A possessive husband who didn't make the effort so his wife could feel comfortable in her own home, that would not be so enticing, I think."

And then it seemed to be too much. She reached for him, wrapping him in her arms, to whisper comfort into his ears. Did he have someone he could talk to like this, Arya wondered, as Jon buried his face into her shoulder, shaking with unshed tears.

"I'm so glad I met you," he whispered. Before she could reply, a noise caught their attention and made them freeze. Jon reached for his sword and muttered for Arya to stay still as he walked towards the noise. 

She couldn't just wait there while Jon could be in danger, so she approached the trees slowly, mindful of her feet. It wasn't long before she heard him call out telling her it was safe, and Arya followed his voice, finding him on his knees beneath a tree she had never seen before, with a white wood and red coloured leaves. She was so mesmerized by it that it took her a few moments to notice that Jon was cradling something in his arm.

"Oh," she said, delighted, and moved closer. There were two pups that looked like tiny balls of grey and white fur, their eyes still closed. Arya reached and gave the grey one a quick stroke. Jon chuckled and put the pup into her arms. She sat down by his side and hugged the wolf pup to her face. Its fur was soft and warm against her cheek and Arya felt in her heart like she had found a piece she didn’t know was missing.

"They are direwolves," Jon said quietly. "And I suppose, by the feeling it caused, our Familiars."

"What is a Familiar?" Arya asked.

"No one knows for sure. Some believe they are just animals, others that they are a projection of the self, and still others that it is a separate entity, something in between," he explained.

"That is amazing," Arya replied, getting closer to him and leaning her head on his shoulder. "Does everyone have one?"

"That's the thing," Jon answered cautiously, "only the heads of some households can bond with their Familiars, and that is an ability that the majority of the lords have been losing over hundreds of years. I learned that a familiar's job was to keep the family from harm, but since that purpose was corrupted to violently give those families more power, the familiars have been disappearing from the world."

As much as Arya had been enjoying to listen to his story… she couldn’t help finding her eyes drooping. His voice continued to wash over her like a soothing bath, and before long, sleep claimed her.

When she woke up in the morning, she found herself in the camp, feeling refreshed, unable to believe she'd slept on the cold, hard ground all night.

Then she remembered.

She immediately regretted falling asleep (or had she woken up?) to Jon's words. She finally began to discover the mysteries and wonders of his world, only to leave him in the middle of his explanation with their new discovered friends. 

Arya turned on her side and faced her sister, who was nestled by her side, inside her own sleeping bag. She thought about their quarrel the night before and was ashamed to have let anger arise so quickly, especially after what Jon had told her about his family. He was alone there and the issues with his siblings were too complicated to end with a simple apology. She bet he would like to change places with her, because she, in turn, could end her arguments with her sister very easily.

"Hey, Sansa," she called whispering. When her sister opened her eyes, Arya immediately continued, not wanting to give her the chance to be mad. "I'm sorry about yesterday, I don't want to fight anymore. Do you want to go to the lake before Father and Robb wake up, to fish? Maybe we could catch our breakfast."

Sansa's eyes softened and she nodded. They crawled out of the tent and ten minutes later sat in silence and in peace, as the lake breeze swirled around them, carrying with it a hint of cedar and roses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading!  
> So, this chapter became the R+L=J fix-it no one asked for (not that I support this ship). I tried to imagine what would happen if something altered House Stark drastically- in this case, Ned was a piece removed from the board early on, which altered their bonds and made them consider their political strategies more carefully, including a less messy arrangement for Lyanna.  
> Also, come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://pinkcedar.tumblr.com/), I've been posting some illustrations and discovering a lot of amazing metas, its a good time!


	6. A new friend

For nearly a year, Arya Stark dealt with dreams of that strange, exotic world that came to her once or twice a week in the shape of wolf dreams. 

It didn't take long for her to realize that, in the majority of them, she was the grey wolf pup she and Jon had found in the forest. In them, she roamed a vast, dark forest with a sense of incompleteness, until she caught the scent of the white pup. She then usually sat on her haunches, lifting her head to the dark sky, and her cry echoed through the forest, lonely at first, and then answered by her brother. They often found each other like that, and together they ran and played and hunted. When the sun began to rise, she knew the white wolf had to return to a castle, so Arya woke up.

In other dreams, she was plagued by visions of dark magic and by a longing she could not quite grasp. Once she thought she caught a glimpse of Pyat Pree in them, twice she called out in vain to a shadow that reminded her of Bran. Sometimes she deduced there was peril in the faces of ghastly, unknown creatures. The meaning of those dreams eluded and frustrated Arya, and she was left confused, shaken to her very core, trying to understand it all.

She had been a little scared of the dreams at first, conscious that her age and naïvety made the curious world that had been opened to her dangerous. But she was also thrilled with the sensations of being a wolf. Of moving on four legs, strong and swift, of smelling the air, alive and intoxicating, of exploring the rich rotting earth beneath her paws. When she smelled the familiar scent of her brother, solid and earthy, she felt peaceful. Free. 

The public library near her house had become something of a lifeline this past year, giving her somewhere to turn for information. Often, her assigned homework was put aside in favour of thick tomes of myth and lore, books that didn’t really bring her closer to understanding what had befallen her but helped her quench her thirst for knowledge. She shoved her head firmly into a confusing cloud, studying it with a determination that bordered on obsession, and only emerged to practice kung fu. 

Arya absorbed all she could about travels to mysterious worlds, their dark lure, their beauty and magic, and all the wonderful creatures that existed within, all with their own delights and dangerous tricks. She also looked for tales about guiding spirits and discovered reports about daemons, matagots, metamorphs, shapeshifters, and lycanthropes. With a pang in her heart, she realized that all over the world tales have been told of human beings cursed with the horrifying affliction of changing under the full moon into wolf-men and destroying those they loved the most.

Once, Arya stumbled across a myth she wished she had encountered before her wild adventures— to accept any food or drink from a different world was to accept some of its power over the person in return, it warned. She wondered in half despair, half delight if the water Jon had used to stop her thirst kept her linked to the wolf in her dreams.

The change in her behaviour was noticed by her family.

Her parents had urged her to enrol in some different activity and Arya baffled them asking to participate in some first aid lessons that were being taught for children in her school after classes.

Robb teasingly compared her to Hermione, a girl who willfully resisted her friends' request to abstain from the library. Arya didn't mind that, Hermione was one of her favourite fictional characters. Sansa often called her a nerd, but Arya didn't mind that either. The only time she was bothered by something Sansa said was when she commented about Arya’s clothes or messy hair. She knew that in her sister’s head she was trying to help, but Arya still wished that she could just be accepted, not wanting to feel even more inadequate.

(And she did feel inadequate. As if she didn’t belong. As if the world had changed and Arya was the only one who noticed.)

At home, her favourite place became her father's study, where she was surrounded by wall-to-wall hardback books. This was the ideal room for locking yourself away with a book or seven, getting lost in the words, trying to decipher what was real and what was fantasy in the stories she was reading.

That was where she was hiding in the dawn of her tenth anniversary, after waking way too early, wanting to read something about werewolves. 

That morning she had woken up in a pool of sweat, shaking and breathing as if she had been running, and tasting blood. Somehow, when she opened her eyes, she felt an urgent need to touch the purple gemstone that was still safely locked in her jewellery box. It had been almost a compulsion, she realized now with dread, and remembered the last time the stone had called out to her like that. 

***

It happened a couple of months ago.

She was just going to pick her journal to fill it with her latest dream, when her fingers encountered the stone that had also been tucked in the jewellery box, and picked it for inspection. She hadn’t thought about it in almost a whole year. When Arya noticed that it felt warm to the touch, and seemed to be getting hotter quickly, almost burning her hand, she tossed the gem with a yelp to the opposite corner of her room. She spent the next minutes looking over at it, trying to decide if she should pick it up again. Once or twice she started to get up to go over closer to look at it, but she was afraid that if she came closer and saw it closer she would touch it, and she was afraid to touch it.

She gathered her courage and reached for the stone, noticing it wasn’t hot anymore. Startled, she realized by looking at the stone's reflective surface that there was someone behind her. Arya hurriedly turned, ready to yell or to fight, but was once again stunned. Just like the first time that Pyat Pree had talked to her, there was someone inside her mirror; only this time, it was a woman. 

"Well, hello," the woman offered, smiling for a moment." Oh. I thought you were Jon," she said, appearing equally astounded.

She was beautiful, with olive skin, dark curly hair, and confused black eyes.

“Jon?” Arya asked bewildered. “Yeah, er... I guess we look alike."

That seemed to surprise the unexpected visitor. "So you do know my brother."

"Brother?!" So that meant… "What's your name?"

“I find it wiser not to answer that just yet,” the woman replied suspiciously. “And who are you?”

"Er, hello. Hm, Your Highness, I presume,” she said, unsure, wondering if she should bow. She never had to act formally in Jon’s presence, but maybe his sister would take offence if she didn’t. “I'm Arya. Arya Stark.” 

"A Stark,” the princess commented, narrowing her eyes. “Interesting.”

“Sorry, but you don't look surprised that we’re talking through a mirror as if it was a regular video conference,” Arya observed.

“I don't know what a _video_ is,” the woman said in a way that appeared like she wasn’t comfortable not knowing something. “But I don't think it is a coincidence that you appeared to me during my attempt of meditation, in the exact instant in which I was thinking about my brother.”

“This is weird for me too,” Arya said. After a pause, she asked shyly, “Could you… maybe call Jon?”

“I'm afraid I can't,” the princess said. Arya must’ve looked very disappointed, because the woman added, kindlier, “we are not at the same place right now, you see.”

“Oh,” was the only reply she could give. She wanted her friend’s reassurance about this stranger who looked nothing like him.

“I suppose you can't tell me why you are currently inside my mirror,” the visitor inquired.

“Not really,” Arya replied. “I’m tired of not knowing. There's so much- What're you doing?!" The woman had grabbed some kind of sword and was unsheathing it.

"I can't just wait here until you decide to attack me, can I? Now, I propose that you answer honestly to three simple questions- who are you, how are you capable of doing old magic and what do you want?"

“My name is Arya Stark, I promise. Look, I'm Jon's friend. We met 3 years ago and 2 other times after that,” Arya realized that she was being too loud and tried to lower her voice so her family wouldn't notice. “But I'm not from your world. We haven't figured out how I'm doing that yet."

“I may need more information in order to believe you, you see,” the princess said steadily. “Accepting that there are different worlds is quite the stretch, even coming from someone who can talk through mirrors. That is something that only exists in legends.”

“Well, right now I'm in my room,” Arya argued after a few moments. “Surely there are lots of things here that you haven't seen before, right?”

That made the woman pause. “What is that?” she seemed to point to Arya’s bedside table.

“A lamp!” Arya exclaimed. “That's right, you don't know what electricity is. Watch!” She pressed the switch and her bedside lamp illuminated the mess that decorated her bedroom.

“Amazing,” she breathed.

“What about this?” Arya grabbed her digital watch and set an alarm. The noise appeared to have disturbed the princess since she pressed her hands over her ears. “So, do you believe me now?” Arya asked triumphantly.

"Not entirely," the woman answered. "This could still be magic from my own world that I just haven't heard about before."

"Trust me, I wish that I knew how to do magic. I'd have dropped out of ballet ages ago to go to a school that teaches magic. In fact, I’d even stop going to my kung fu classes.”

“What are balle and kun-fu?” she asked after a moment.

“Ballet is a type of dance, we do things like this,” Arya exemplified with a pirouette. “And kung fu is a martial art, for self-defence. Like this,” she punched the air to demonstrate.

“It looks like Water Dance! I should know, I've been practising it for years,” the princess grinned and demonstrated. “You only need a slender blade to do things like this,” she showed a piercing movement that appeared to include both the pirouette and the punch Arya had shown.

“That's awesome!” Arya couldn’t contain her smile. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“Do you intend to appear in my mirror often enough for me to teach you?” she asked teasingly.

“Of course! If I figure out how. I’d love to learn more about Water Dancing and Westeros,” Arya replied excitedly. When the woman smiled, Arya asked boldly, “Can you tell me your name now?”

"I'm Rhaenys Targaryen," the woman finally replied, using an authoritative tone and straightening her spine, but before she could say anything else, a noise interrupted them and a concerned look crossed her face. “Someone’s coming,” she said, and her image disappeared. Arya blinked and looked at her own face in the mirror.

  
  


***

Footsteps in the corridor startled her out of her memories. Arya heard someone creep in the study quietly, and close the door again. Sniffing the air she smiled at the hints of her father's perfume on the intruder. She peeked out from behind the chair she had moved into, making her presence known so he wouldn't be alarmed.

“Happy birthday darling," Ned said, hugging her. "Shouldn't you be changing? Your party will start in one hour," he said. His eyebrows raised unevenly, but otherwise, you’d not believe he’d been surprised by his daughter being there.

“I forgot,” Arya scrunched her nose at him apologetically, and went to her room to change.

She still didn't understand why the hell she needed a party to celebrate her birthday— heck, she'd meant heck, honest and true, she answered her mom in her own head— but she knew that she was dressed up really nicely, in a white tutu dress, and that there were lots of children coming to see her. She was nervous. She didn't know if anyone would be coming, because, well… that was your worry when you held a party, wasn't it? That, and the fact that she didn't have many friends.

She honestly didn't want a party, but a month ago Arya overheard Cat whispering to Ned about how she was becoming standoffish, and it made her want to cry, because— she appreciated everything her family did for her, she didn’t ever want to come off as cold. The Undying's vision of them lying in a hospital bed was always on her mind, making her anxious to know if it was the future. She wanted her family to always know she was grateful for the love and home she had, at least.

(But she was irritable and tired because of her dreams and the coddling was both unnecessary and overwhelming, and she didn’t always react well to it.)

So she didn't make a fuss when a party was suggested, wanting everyone to be happy. But one hour into the party and Arya was already kind of bored. 

She ended up playing Monopoly with Mycah and his friends while the other kids played hide-and-seek. She had noticed before that Mycah had been spending a lot of time with those boys lately; this could be a chance for her to befriend them as well.

Arya and Mycah had been drifting apart, not finding a lot of common interests this past year. More than once he claimed she couldn't participate in 'the boys' game', and left her on her own in school. Arya knew she should try to make other friends too, but with other kids she often didn’t know what to say, and ended retelling the legends and fables she read about. Since she didn’t care to make parallels with popular TV shows and movies, the other children tended to lose interest quickly.

Yet here they were, playing Monopoly.

The stakes were high, and by high it meant there was chocolate at stake (there was a candy buffet that they weren’t supposed to attack yet, but did anyway). They decided to change the rules a bit, so when someone's token landed in a place on the board where there was a property token, the owner of said property gained the right to eat the chocolate from them.

"Delicious," she said cheerfully eating one of her rewards.

"You sure you want to do that?" asked Lommy, a tall blonde boy who acted as if he was better than everyone. "You'd better have some left to pay me."

"Oh I’m sure," she replied.

"I'm broke," Mycah said quietly when Lommy caught his last chocolate.

"You're out," said Lommy. The other two declared bankruptcy soon after.

"Hmm," Arya said, glancing at the dice briefly. Lommy failed to get out of jail and had no money to pay the fine. "I think you're out too huh."

"No," Lommy said, showing her a get out of jail card. "I'm about to win."

"Why wouldn't you use it if you had that card already?" Arya asked suspiciously.

"It's called strategy, you wouldn't understand it," he replied. "And look!" he showed a chance card, "choose an opponent and receive all of their properties. I guess I win," he reached for her chocolates.

"Not so fast," Arya said, placing her hand over Lommy's. "I've never seen this card. You're cheating."

"No, I'm not."

"Sure you are. You just didn't disguise it very well. Surrender the chocolate."

"You're mistaken. Isn't that right boys?"

"Right," his friends nodded quickly. Mycah looked down at the table and said nothing. Arya scoffed.

"I was going to share the chocolates, but you don't deserve them," they were so annoying, she thought. "Next time, warn me that we're playing by Lommy's rules."

"A girl like you won't be invited next time," Lommy said smugly.

"Arya, just let it go, okay?" Mycah said.

Arya glared at her best friend. He should've taken her side, not the opposite.

"Oooh," Lommy taunted. "Poor little girl, can't even get her friend to defend her. Why don't you go play with dolls? I bet it's because nobody wants you near, not even them." Arya stood, but when she turned to leave he mocked her, "Jeyne was right, she's a brat with a horse face."

Lommy touched a raw nerve with that last comment. Arya didn’t really care about her looks, nor did she care about Jeyne’s opinion. But she cared about Sansa’s, even though she pretended not to. And Sansa and Jeyne were practically each other’s shadow nowadays. Did her sister talk about Arya with her friend like that when she wasn’t listening? 

She let out a long breath, not wanting to rise to the boy’s baiting, but one of Lommy’s minions muttered that if Arya was pretty like Sansa he would’ve dragged her somewhere to kiss her instead of playing games. Something in her was going into overdrive as her ire rose, not wanting to hear them talk about her sister like that. As they started to laugh she stalked over and gave the boy a blow with enough momentum to knock him down off his feet. He hit the ground with a loud thud, and Arya strode to where he laid dazed on the ground, lifting him by the collar.

“Don’t you ever talk about my sister again, got it?” Arya practically snarled. 

"What in the world is going on here?" Catelyn demanded.

"He was asking for it," Arya said darkly.

"We just... We just asked her to share," Lommy said meekly, showing the chocolate. "But you can have them… here."

Arya stared at Lommy in disbelief. He disassembled so easily and quickly.

"Liar!" she slapped his hand, the candy flying everywhere. "I won't hold back next time, so stay away from me."

Arya turned and ran to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. She was feeling unhinged, as if she couldn't control her anger anymore. She didn't want to. Arya quickly found her purple gemstone in the safety of the jewellery box and held it close to her chest.

"Westeros. Westeros. Westeros," she whispered, willing the gem to take her away. "Please, take me to Westeros. To Jon. Or Rhaenys."

The minute she pronounced the princess’ name, Arya felt the stone hitting up. Once again she saw a purple eye looking back within the gem's surface, and once again she witnessed the older woman appearing in her mirror.

“Arya?” she sounded baffled. “I heard a strange noise and there you were once more. Did you figure out how you are doing this?”

“No, I… I asked the stone to take me to Westeros...”

“A stone that grants wishes?” Rhaenys asked in that same pompous way.

“I never tried to use it like that,” Arya replied simply. She wondered why she thought that would work, and then it came to her. “Hey, last time I saw someone else in the mirror, he came through to my world. Like a portal I guess. Do you… do you mind if I try crossing as he did?”

“I don't even know you, little one. How can I trust that you're not an illusion using my brother's likeness to deceive me?”

“This again? I swear I’m not a threat. I’m just so tired of not being able to understand anything, and this could be a chance to find out. Please!”

“I still don’t think this is prudent,” Rhaenys hesitated. “But you have my permission to come through.”

Arya spent the next couple of minutes trying to understand how to do that. She pressed her palm, then the stone, even her forehead against the mirror, to no effect. Once again, she asked the gem to take her to Westeros, but this time nothing happened. Rhaenys watched patiently from the other side.

“I can't!" Arya cried after a while. "This is a load of bollocks!”

“Why do you want to come so much? Are you in danger there?” Rhaenys asked.

“No… I just don't want to be here right now,” Arya replied looking at the floor. They were quiet for a few moments.

“We can talk about it if you want,” Rhaenys offered.

“It's just… I feel like I don't belong here. Before, I felt that I was... well, normal. I liked everyone in my class, I had friends. I liked going to school and doing ballet. And now everyone is kind of boring, it's hard to talk to them. School feels pointless, and it shouldn't, but all I want to read are fairy tales. And I’m constantly feeling out of control… I lose my temper all the time. I even convinced my mother to let me drop out of ballet. The only things I like here are my family and kung fu.” Arya felt tears stinging her eyes when she finished her speech.

“Well, it seems like you need help to control your emotions. Maybe meditation,” Rhaenys was suggesting thoughtfully until something came to her mind. “Arya, who gave you that stone?”

Arya rubbed her eyes. “It was a man called Pyat Pree,” she answered, and told Rhaenys a short version of what had happened at the House of the Undying.

"You have to destroy it!" Rhaenys cried in anguish.

“What? Why?” Arya asked almost defensively. She liked her stone, it was a link to Jon, a proof that she had been in Westeros.

“The Undying of Qarth are dangerous,” Rhaenys explained quickly. “They are famously known as people who steal other sorcerers’ magic. They are probably controlling you with it.”

“How do I get rid of it?” Arya asked distressingly. Her instincts were telling her Rhaenys was right, and that she should smash the stone with everything that she had. 

She did. Arya didn’t know where the strength had come from, but she dropped the gemstone on the ground and stepped on it, smashing it to smithereens. When she looked at the broken pieces, for the first time in a long while, she felt... she didn't know how to describe it exactly. All the peacefulness that she'd missed was being compressed into that moment. She couldn’t prevent the cheer that escaped her lips then.

“Arya?” Catelyn interrupted, opening her door. Arya quickly looked at the mirror to see what Rhaenys would say, but she was gone. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one,” she replied quickly. “I mean, myself. I was thinking aloud.”

“So, are you OK?” Catelyn asked, sounding annoyed.

Arya was grateful that her Mom came to check in on her, even if it was just to scold her for getting into a fight earlier.

“Yeah… I am now,” she smiled at her reflection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends, Bea here! I adore you all and appreciate so much your comments and kudos. Thank you so much to anyone who ever takes the time to read my words


	7. Answers

Arya was sure that she could do it now. She was going to Westeros. Awake.

The day was almost over, and she was grounded for hitting that stupid boy anyway. No one would miss her if she was supposed to stay in her bedroom reflecting on her actions, she told herself, locking the door just in case.

The party was almost over and Arya spent the past half hour deciding what to do. When she broke the gemstone the feeling of freedom had been indescribable. She bit her lip, her eyes widening in excitement. Far stronger than just guessing that it would work, she knew it in her heart. She could do this.

Arya stood in front of the mirror and called Rhaenys timidly. Her own image disappeared and she saw her friend approaching from the other side.

“You’re all right! Oh, I was so concerned imagining that you were hurt!”

“I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m OK!"

“What happened?”

“After the stone broke, the only change was that I noticed this thing inside me,” Arya said, pressing a hand to her chest. “I don’t know how to explain it, it was like being hit by a lightning bolt. And now this- this energy is coursing through my veins. But it also feels like it was there since the beginning, and I just hadn't noticed before…”

“It's magic. What was being suppressed by the stone is now making its presence known.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Arya tilted her head to one side. “How do you know that?”

“I’m very interested in magic, though I consider my knowledge in this area very limited still.”

That made Arya even more excited. Maybe Rhaenys could teach her what she knew. “Can I try again? To go there, I mean. I feel that it would work this time,” she explained.

“Yes, certainly,” Rhaenys replied confidently, but as soon as Arya raised her hand to touch the mirror, she exclaimed. “Wait! Let's test this thoroughly. Bring something with you.”

“Like what?” Arya asked, puzzled.

“I don't know, something from your world,” Rhaenys explained.

Arya considered with a quick look around her room what she could take, meaning to gift her new friend with it. Her eyes landed on her bookshelf and a grin came to her lips as she decided she would take what she considered to be atemporal stories- Shakespeare! Without wasting time, she reached for it and pressed it against the mirror. Closing her eyes, she imagined that the glass was dissolving, and was surprised to see it work. The glass turned into a sort of bright silvery mist, and Arya stepped through it, into Rhaenys’ room.

“I did it!” she exclaimed happily, lifting the book above her head in a sign of victory. Rhaenys just stared open-mouthed at her and then started to laugh.

But their triumph was short-lived. Arya’s eyes hadn’t even finished perusing the unknown parts of Rhaenys' room when, not even a minute later, she felt that the world was short on air. She gasped, clutching her stomach and trying to inhale frantically. Bending over at the waist, she balanced her upper body on her knees as the world moved around her.

“Arya?!” her friend barked in alarm.

“Rhaenys…” Arya’s voice was soft and slurred. “Something’s wrong,” she said unnecessarily.

She didn’t hear the reply. Arya’s skin was cold and clammy, her field of vision was fading out and she crumpled to the ground like a puppet suddenly released of its strings.

When she was on the verge of losing consciousness, however, a sound rose out of darkness, faint and distant, but unmistakable: the howling of wolves. Their voices rose and fell in a chilly song as if they were calling her, and slowly she felt that her strength had returned enough for her to reply.

She didn’t know how to talk to them, though.

Opening her eyes, Arya found herself with her head leaning against Rhaenys’ shoulder, and that she was calling her name.

“Sorry about that,” Arya said when their eyes met.

“None of that,” Rhaenys said. “I called for help, though. I hope the maester abstains from asking too many questions. How are you feeling?” she asked worriedly.

“Better,” Arya replied, wondering what a maester was. “Thanks,” she stood blushing, realizing she needed her friend’s help to prop herself up.

“Arya, what happened?” Rhaenys inquired.

“I don’t know…” she replied honestly, biting her lip. “It felt like I was fainting, but it was more than that, as if shadows were coming my way to suffocate me. And then I heard wolves howling and suddenly I could breathe again.”

“Wolves?” Rhaenys appeared even more alarmed.

“Yeah… It’s weird, I feel connected to wolves,” she drew in a long breath. “You see, last time I was in your world, Jon and I found two wolf pups in the forest. Since then I've been having wolf dreams, and in them it's like I am one of them,” she said tiredly. “I love it, but some days I wake up and I miss having a tale,” she chuckled. “And the other wolf, I miss him constantly. I even feel lonely when I think about it too much.”

“Indeed, you must be suffering a lot,” Rhaenys said gravely. “That is a very rare connection, it's called warging. A skinchanger can enter the mind of an animal and control its actions, and a skinchanger able to enter the mind of a wolf, like you, is known as a warg, which is something unheard of nowadays. That’s probably why you’re having such difficulty to control your emotions. The interaction between the minds of the skinchanger and the animal influences both personalities.”

“Why didn't Jon tell me about it?” Arya asked dismally. “He only said the wolf was my familiar.”

“He probably doesn't know,” Rhaenys said in a gentle tone. “Our father has kept Jon distant from magic ever since he was a baby. But a familiar, that’s an even deeper connection, and only a few High Lords have the power to do that, after many years of training. It allows them to summon the creatures they are connected to. Jon’s ignorance about magic must have confused him, I think.”

“But why didn’t your father allow him to learn? That's not fair.” Arya crossed her arms.

“He was afraid of losing Jon,” Rhaenys explained reasonably. “He still is,” she cast her eyes to the floor. “There was a prophecy, powerful and dangerous. Lyanna, Jon's mother, told me about it a few years ago, before she died. Rhaegar, our father, received it before he even met her, around the time my mother passed away.”

“What did the prophecy say?” Arya couldn’t help asking.

Rhaenys furrowed her brow, looking as if she had said too much. “I’ll tell you some other time,” she replied apologetically. “I’m worried about the way you were affected by coming here,” she said in a no-nonsense voice. “So I have an idea. Let me take you to the godswood.”

Arya decided not to press her friend, even though her curiosity had been picked. “What’s a godswood?”

“It is a place of worship and, sometimes, a place where some can find answers,” Rhaenys explained. “We should go before the maester arrives, I don’t trust him enough to see you. In fact...” she trailed off, opening a cabinet to take some kind of vestment. “Wear this, it’s better if no one pays much attention to you.”

“I don’t know how to wear that,” Arya said with a rueful smile, making Rhaenys laugh.

“You certainly aren’t from this world. Here, let me help you.”

The bodice didn't fit her well, even though Rhaenys was a short woman, but it didn’t look so discrepant seeing that Arya was wearing her birthday dress. Rhaenys gave her a pair of boots that were too big for Arya’s feet and told her to pretend that she belonged while still walking fast, so Arya put on a serious face. Their dignified expressions split into grins, wide and silly as they stepped out the door together. 

“I sent the knight that was guarding me to fetch the maester, thankfully. Come, before we meet them,” Rhaenys said and proceeded to lead the way. 

Rhaenys must’ve known exactly where to go to avoid as many people as they could, because the few who had crossed their way seemed too busy to notice them or rushed past them after a quick bow directed at Rhaenys. They made their way through the winding stone corridors of the castle and down a series of steps, until they finally reached the main entrance hall and moved through the large arching doors leading outside. 

It was a gorgeous day, clear and mild with a gentle breeze. Once outside, they followed a stone-paved path to the east side of the castle grounds where stood a wooded area. Arya swept her gaze around their surroundings, noticing curiously that the colours seemed magnified. Everything was richer, brighter than what she was used to. The grass was green, but a deep, vibrant green. The sky was a deep turquoise colour. A row of tall trees— their hanging branches somewhat like weeping willows— formed a colourful archway over the path, and low, flowering plants and bushes of various types and colours skirted each side of the scenic walkway.

“It’s beautiful here,” she told Rhaenys. “It’s like if you take the colours you see on my world and expand them.” 

Her friend smiled. “The beauties of Highgarden are praised everywhere.”

Suddenly they reached a tree similar to the one Arya had seen in her previous visit to Westeros. It had a white smooth bark and five-pointed leaves coloured red. She shivered when she noticed an ugly red face carved into its trunk. There was a power emanating from the tree. Arya could feel it, even though she could not describe the sensation.

“Not many southron castles have heart-trees like this one,” Rhaenys said, breaking the silence. “They are sacred to worshipers of the old gods, who are believed to watch through these trees. I thought to bring you here since your name is Stark, like the previous protectors of the North, who were devoted to the old gods.”

“Thank you Rhaenys,” Arya said with emotion in her voice. “Thank you for helping so much.”

“Of course,” she replied. “When someone as powerful as Nymeria asks for your help, there is no way you can refuse them.”

“Me? Powerful?” Arya snorted. “Who is Nymeria?”

“She was a truly wonderful warrior, and a fair ruler,” Rhaenys smirked. “But that’s not important now. I want answers too, you know.”

“Right,” Arya turned to look at the face carved on the tree. “I’ll just…” she placed her hand against the trunk and closed her eyes.

Almost immediately, Arya heard her name being called in a smooth, delicate way. The voice reminded her of her mother’s voice, like the times Catelyn woke Arya up when she was late for school.

“Arya,” the voice called again, and she noticed it was a voice higher than her mother’s. 

She decided to open her eyes, not knowing if it would break the connection, but was surprised to see that she was not near Rhaenys anymore. Once again, she found herself in a different forest and was momentarily overwhelmed by various feelings. Sad that her friend had been left behind, afraid that she might be in danger, curious about the place she’d been transported to. All that was put aside when she turned and saw a familiar face smiling at her.

“Bran!” she cheered, running to his side beneath a tree. He was seated leaning against it and pated the ground motioning for her to sit by his side. It was a sight so similar to the first time she had seen him that she realized that it was the same forest she had dreamed of on that occasion.

“I have so much to tell you,” he said when she sat at the place he had indicated.

“And I have many questions,” she challenged. “How come you haven’t changed a bit?”

He smiled at her. “I’ll explain that soon. But first, you have to tell me how you have managed to reach me. We could be in danger.”

She explained to him about the way the stone had been smashed, allowing her to step into Westeros, about the way Rhaenys had helped her, and about her attempts to reach him in her dreams. “I called your name so many times. But I think you couldn’t hear me.”

“I’m sorry. In truth, I could not speak to you, try as I might. Through the trees, I saw your dreams, but no word of mine seemed to ever reach you. That sorcery from Qarth must have grown so much in power that it probably blocked our connection,” he said, and then was quiet for a while. “The last time we talked you had been in a forest with your family, and that might’ve allowed me to surpass their power.”

“Bran, you controlled a bird that time. How?” Arya asked, not wanting to waste any second to have her questions answered. “I’ve been dreaming that I am a wolf for almost a year. Please, can you tell me how I am doing that?”

“The wolf dreams are no true dreams,” he said seriously. “You have your eye closed tight whenever you're awake, but as you drift off it flutters open and your soul seeks its other half.”

“I don’t understand,” Arya said with a furrowed brow.

"The gods have sent you and Jon the direwolves as gifts. The bond you've established with yours has kept the connection open for you to access this world in your dreams."

"Does that mean that when I saw the white wolf— I mean, direwolf— he was Jon the whole time?"

"Yes, he and Ghost are even more in sync, since they also spend the days together."

"Oh," Arya felt her stomach dropping. "So that means mine must've been feeling lonely this whole time, right?"

"Actually, no. She is too independent to stay inside a castle, as Ghost does. He can sense Jon's loneliness and because of that chooses to stay with him."

Her guilt lifted a little. “I thought it was the water that Jon gave me that kept me dreaming about Westeros.”

“You were right to consider that, although the water is what allowed you to speak to Rhaenys, not to dream about Westeros. It falls under the law of hospitality. But all the water and food in Westeros could not trap you so, unless a part of you wished for it to. It merely keeps open a connection between you and Jon, or in this case, Jon’s sister, since it was a Targaryen who was the generous benefactor who made a gift of the water.”

“I could only talk to Rhaenys after picking Pyat Pree’s gemstone though,” Arya said, feeling very confused.

“You are wrong to imagine the stone was allowing you to access Westeros. You had the power to do it all along, but the gem was blocking your connection, or at least diminishing it. The Undying of Qarth steal other people’s life forces, and you were a very efficient fuel for them.”

She was quiet for a few minutes, letting the information sink in. “Bran, how do you know so much?”

“I’ve had so many green dreams by now. Dreams became lessons, lessons became dreams, things happened all at once or not at all.”

“When you say green dreams, do you mean you were seeing the future?” Arya asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

“It means I can see everything that was and might be. At the moment we look, we can see the most likely outcome, but it is not truly seeing the future as the outcome can be changed at any moment by a different choice,” his face became sad when he turned to look into her eyes. “I was looking after Jon in one of those dreams, seeing how lonely he was, and I wished that you were there with him. I… I think that is how you came to Westeros the first time. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey, it’s OK. I like being here. It’s an amazing adventure.” Arya replied, even though she was unsure of what to make of his statement. “But… why me?”

“You’re so smart… you can adapt so easily and find kindness everywhere,” Bran gushed with wide eyes and a beaming smile. “The things you’ve seen and oh the things you’re going to see.”

“Me? You’re the one who brought me here!” Arya arched her eyebrows meaningfully. “You must have seen loads. What is it like to do that?”

Bran’s smile faded, and he looked down for a moment before saying, “It isn’t pleasant.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “There was a war… it was a long time ago.” 

“You know about my life,” Arya offered gently. “I’ll try to understand if you want to talk about it.”

Bran hesitated, but then his eyes went back to Arya. She got the impression that Bran was seeing something she wasn’t, but decided to leave it for now. Then Bran swallowed.

“Arya… I’m your brother,” he said gravely.

Her brain stuttered for a moment and every part of her went on pause while her thoughts caught up. In her heart, she knew it was true. When she finally willed her lips to move, she only managed to mutter a quiet, “What?”

“You and Mother and Father, you are from this world originally. And I’m their son, same as you and Robb and Sansa.”

As if stuck underwater, everything was slow and warbled as Arya put her hands on Bran’s shoulders, her eyes wide as she stared at him in horror. “How?”

“There were these two races… the Others and the Children of the Forest. Both very powerful at the beginning, the most powerful in the universe, and they went to war against each other. Hundreds of years later, the Others returned, but the Children had become weak and couldn’t stop them. My family, my people, weren’t aware that the Others even existed. Magic was something that mostly was talked about in legends, so when they came, we were all doomed. We were attacked.” Bran sniffed a little and shivered. “So many were dying and most of our family was already gone by the time the Winter truly came. I knew we had no chance of surviving due to the incapability of most of the rulers to unite everyone against the true threat. I had to do something.”

“You saved us,” Arya confirmed sadly.

“I went back and changed some events, but I didn’t have the power to change everything. And I didn’t know what would be the result. So winter is still coming, only now we might have a chance to survive it.”

“Then, our family…”

“Like I said, I couldn’t change everything. But I tried to get Mother and Father out of Westeros. A few others went along. And then I was trapped here. I can only watch things unfold now, through the trees, and talk to you and Jon and some other people. I am living inside a dream.”

“But that’s awful!”

“It’s a price I was- I _am_ willing to pay if it means our family is safe. I know it was a very selfish thing to do, but I was so young… If I could, I would have tried to save others, but I didn’t know what was going to happen,” Bran confessed. His eyes glistened as he looked into her eyes. “I can see them through your dreams sometimes. Father and Mother, and Sansa and Robb. I am so glad they are safe, living ordinary lives in your world, but I miss them so much,” he confided sadly. “And Rickon, I don’t know what happened to him, why he was never born in your world…” and then he crumbled, the tear bursting forth like water from a dam.

“Oh, I am so, so sorry, Bran,” Arya told him compassionately, enveloping him in a hug and whispering comforting words while he shed hot tears in her shoulder, sobbing like a child who had lost his mother.

Arya had never grieved before. She had never lost anything, anyone. But now she felt the presence of a hole in her heart in the shape of the brother she never knew she had been missing. So she clutched the boy more firmly against her, praying for whatever gods that had been playing with them to make her stronger, strong enough to save Bran from his nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so SO much to everyone who is reading and commenting and kudos'ing!


	8. Glimpse

Arya was very confused by the amount of new information she received in such little time. The number of questions she had gathered over the course of years trying to understand her adventures in Westeros was immense and Bran seemed all too happy to talk as much as he could. It seemed like they had been talking forever, and it probably had been a few hours since she had left Rhaenys to find Bran, but it hadn’t been enough time to make sense of it all.

After explaining that there were different worlds, Bran told Arya about himself and how he was connected to a mighty old tree. A tree that existed at the heart of all the worlds, he said. Its roots winded down into the ashes of the past and its branches reached into future skies. 

They were sitting beneath said tree, he pointed out. When she looked up, it seemed as large and tall as the biggest building Arya had ever seen. Its woven white roots were thick and the red leaves were so high that they seemed to be touching the sky. All the time she had the feeling that she was being observed, but all she saw was branches and roots. There weren’t other kinds of plants around, nor animals. Not even insects. She didn’t feel safe there and told Bran as much.

“Just as there is evil in the hearts of men, nature too has its terrors, that can be perceived as white shadows –the dread within each forest’s core. Here, it becomes more evident,” Bran explained seriously. “For this reason, I advise caution if you ever need to find me the way you did today.”

“But isn’t this a place of worship? Why is it so dangerous?”

Bran’s eyes seemed far away as he replied. “In the beginning, weirwood trees were held sacred; forest groves were perceived as the dwelling place of gods and a wide variety of nature spirits. It is therefore not surprising that when the priests of the new religions waged war against older beliefs and its powerful creatures, these were the areas where they focused their efforts, cutting down sacred trees and putting whole groves of woodland to the torch. Here is the remaining source of power to all of those trees. And it is pulsing with the energy required to rebuild,” he blinked and he seemed to return to the present. “But we’ll talk more about this some other time.”

Arya was still struggling to believe she had lived a different life in Westeros. The confusion was probably noticeable in her face since Bran offered to show her what he was saying. Not knowing what he meant, Arya took the hand he extended, bracing herself for what could happen.

Nothing could have prepared her though. When Bran’s hand touched Arya’s, she felt swept away and her vision blurred. Something gripped her heart and flooded her veins. Arya couldn’t speak, couldn’t move and couldn’t see. 

Then she saw it all. 

Images flashed before her eyes, pulled forward with an unreal sharpness. But that wasn’t all. The images were all accompanied by feelings and sensations, like a long-forgotten dream.

_She is five years old, using a dress made of velvet and silk that reaches her feet, leaving the hem deeply muddy. Her hair is as tangled as a bird's nest, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she hugs her father, pressing a bouquet of wildflowers against his neck. A few minutes later, when he leaves to put them in the water, an immaculately dressed Sansa harshly scolds her for not behaving like a highborn lady. Arya is on the verge of tears, but it is a ten-year-old Jon who appears suddenly and grabs her hand, pulling her to a new adventure made for just the two of them._

_She is six years old and scared. She is walking in a dark place, with a little child_ –Bran, she realizes– _clutching her hand while Robb and Sansa walk ahead. Arya says that spiders and rats are probably lurking about and Robb replies that she should be more worried about the dead who could wake from their tombs. That’s when they hear a sound low and deep and shivery and a spirit steps out of an open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood. Sansa shrieks running for the stairs and Bran sobs, but Arya stands her ground and gives the spirit a punch, who exclaims in pain, making her realize it is only Jon, covered with flour. “You stupid,” she tells him, “you scared the baby,” but Jon and Robb just laugh and laugh, and pretty soon Bran and Arya are laughing too._

 _She is seven years old and excited to be learning how to fire a bow for the first time. Arya asks Jon, Robb and_ –is that her neighbour, Theon?– _a lot of questions and is having loads of fun until she hears her mother calling her name and she feels like she’s been hit by a bucket of cold water. Her mother is so angry at her and at Jon that for the first time in her life Arya wonders if Catelyn doesn’t like her much at all. She feels that her mother doesn’t think she’s good enough and realises Jon probably feels inadequate like that all the time, and it hurts._

_She is eight years old and hates all of the things she is supposed to be good at doing. Sansa knows how to do everything perfectly and Arya hates that she lacks so much in comparison. She secretly dreams of being a knight because then she wouldn’t have to be good with things like sewing and dancing and being beautiful. She would be able to play outside with her brothers without worrying about not being able to do things as well as her mother would have liked, no matter how hard she tried. That’s what she is reflecting upon when Jon finds her by the lake in the Godswood, and what makes her ask him if she is a bastard like him. He can’t disguise the hurt in his eyes when he replies that she isn’t, and Arya feels ashamed and privileged and loved all at once. She holds him close as an apology and vows to always be a safe harbour to him._

_She is nine years old and feels a glimmer of happiness to cling on to. Bran hasn’t woken up yet and she is going to King’s Landing, leaving home behind. She is sad all the time, except for now. Now Jon is putting a sword in her hand, showing her how to hold it. It is the best present she has ever received. She promises to practice every day, even without fancy lessons, she’ll show him someday that she’s good at something. Despite everything else that makes her ordinary, this makes her feel a little special. And she loves him all the more for it._

_She is ten years old, and Syrio’s lessons allow her to keep focused, to keep the memories of The Great Sept of Baelor and of the camp that became a butcher’s den at bay. Arya tries to be brave and smart despite knowing that she is in over her head. Every day she feels a hole inside her, an emptiness where her brothers and her parents had lived. She has no home anymore. No pack. So she presses the small black iron coin that Jaqen H'ghar had given her into the captain’s hand and says the two words whose meaning she does not know_ – _V_ _alar morghulis._

_She is eleven years old and is returning to The House of Black and White after finishing an assignment when she hears the news about the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, The Bastard of Winterfell, who's been killed by his own men. With absolute certainty, she knows then. She isn’t Cat of the Canals, Blind Beth, nor Mercy anymore. She isn’t no one. Not Weasel, not Nan, nor Arry, nor Squab, not even Lumpyhead. She is Arya Stark. A girl who has someone she loves fiercely. He isn’t dead. She would have felt it. He can’t be dead. Arya needs to go home to prove it. She needs to find him. That’s when the tears start falling._

The images shifted, and she could hear Bran’s voice breaking through the haze of Arya’s mind asking if she wanted to continue. Arya pulled her hand away gasping _no_ and crashed to the floor, trying to catch her breath.

“Arya,” Bran gasped. The boy reached for her, a frantic look on his face. “I’m sorry, I thought it might help the confusion you were feeling.”

“I’m fine,” Arya snapped more harshly than she meant to. Then she took a deep breath. “Bran, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Bran repeated, “I forgot that it's too overwhelming to see the world the same way I do the first time.”

“It’s fine,” Arya told him. “I’m fine.”

A few moments passed as she gathered her thoughts.

“You’re the reason Jon has been living more happily this past year,” Bran informed her, trying to sound cheerful, but not completely hiding his worry.

Arya turned to look at Bran, her vision finally clearing, although the feeling of being merely a shelf of herself clung to her. She frowned and asked, “Seriously?” _He isn’t dead._ “I mean, how?”

“Through the wolf dreams," Bran said, and then sighed. "He is so lonely this time around. I used to talk to him more often, but his time visiting the Godswood as himself is becoming limited because of his other duties and lessons. In the other life, in Winterfell, he had all of us. He had you. In this life, his real siblings survived, but Rhaenys was sent away to marry when Jon was still a baby, and Aegon… their relationship is hard. He was so alone all the time and I know how that feels, now more than ever. I love Jon, I didn’t want him to feel like that, so I… I brought you, when you were younger, even though I didn’t know I was doing it at the time.”

Arya was still trying to wrap her head around the memories she had just witnessed. The despair and the solitude she had felt was practically unbearable. How did Bran stand witnessing all that?

“That’s… I’m glad you brought me then,” she replied at last. “J-Jon is my best friend, you know? Even more now that I know about this, I guess. I only wish we could meet more often.”

Bran stared at her for a few seconds and said, “You will. Can I show you something?” She hesitated, so he quickly reassured her, “I won’t show the other life again, I promise.”

She closed her eyes reaching for Bran’s hand and he reassured her by entwining their fingers. Arya blinked open her eyes and glimpsed a clear blue sky. She sat up looking around and found herself in a meadow at the edge of a forest. Steady wind ruffled and stirred the grass, making it hum in harmony to the shivering green trees. An austere castle wall stood watch in the distance looking dangerous and foreboding with dark clouds swirling around its towers. She shivered under its gaze and turned her attention back to the serene meadow. She felt a great sense of peace here at the edge of this forest, a peace that was shattered by the sound of running feet and a shout.

“Aegon! Wait!”

Two boys, the younger looking about seven or eight and the older, ten, ran toward the tree line. In curious fascination, Arya followed them into the trees, careful not to make a sound. They were a dichotomy, these two. One was taller with blonde, almost white hair, straight as a pin, and skin as pale as a cloud. The other was smaller with brown wild hair, that highlighted his healthy pink skin that turned rosy around his cheeks with his exertion. Arya realized that she was seeing a younger Jon, who looked even more like her than he did when she last saw him. _And the other boy must be his brother_.

“Oh do hurry up,” the light-haired child chastised.

“Wait! Look!” little Jon climbed into a silver tree. “Oh, Aegon, look what I found.”

The other boy sighed. “What is it?”

Jon very carefully, almost tenderly, held in his palm a small insect with a jewel-like carapace. It’s yellow scorpion-like tail shimmered and shifted in colour, doing it’s best to fold up curling into the boy’s hand. Although it looked dangerous, the small creature didn’t attack Jon.

“Oh,” the boy called Aegon said with fascination. “A manticore!” He moved closer, examining the creature in his brother’s outstretched hands.

“Look at his face,” the younger Jon said in awe. “It looks like a human face. I’ve read that he can shift his face to look like anything, but mostly has this malign, human face because we are the worst predators. We all know about his sting, but he also has amazing defensive skills. Even if he is attacked, he can grow back his limbs, so he can always leave a part of him behind if need be. And if he is attacked too many times the venom grows stronger.”

Arya narrowed her eyes on the older boy. Mischief was written all over his face when he spoke up.

“Give him here. Let’s see,” Aegon demanded with a wicked sort of glee.

“What? No! You can’t hurt him!” Jon exclaimed with horror.

“Oh come on, tender heart. You just said he could grow another back.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt,” young Jon said, standing up. “Besides, it could harm you, if you threaten him he will sting and the poison kills almost instantly.”

“Oh come on, it hasn’t hurt you,” Aegon said, grabbing for the animal. “Just give him to me.”

“Aegon no! Don’t hurt him!” Jon was a smaller child, but proved to be fast as he darted and weaved away from his brother’s attempts at capturing the poor creature.

He jumped back up the tree and placed the creature on a branch where it scurried away. He climbed back down only to face the wrath of his playmate that tackled him to the ground. The boys wrestled for a few minutes, trying to gain the upper hand until Aegon had the other boy pinned to the ground. Arya ran forward, intent on pulling the boys apart, but her hands passed right through them. The smirking Aegon looked down at his brother before punching him in the nose hard.

“That’s for not sharing.” Humiliation complete, Aegon climbed off and stormed away.

Jon leaned up on his elbows and watched his brother go. He looked miserable as he wiped at the blood and tears on his face with the back of his hand. Arya’s heart broke for the poor boy and she had the irresistible urge to gather him into her arms to comfort him. She reached out but again her hands passed right through the apparition.

The scene faded away into ephemera, wisping around Arya’s skin before reforming into a new dream. 

“Has father talked to you about Dragonstone yet,” An older Aegon asked, his tone filled with indifference, almost boredom.

“No, but my mum did. Did he explain to you why he’s sending you there?”

“He said it’s to protect me,” he murmured.

Jon didn’t look convinced. “But we are protected here. _I_ can protect you here. You don’t have to go live there.”

“You think I need you to protect me?” Jon didn’t answer, so Aegon continued. “Fine. You can come with me. I’ll convince father.”

“I can’t.” The boy’s forlorn tone pulled at Arya’s heartstrings.

Aegon scoffed. “What? Afraid you’ll miss your mummy?”

The other boy shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Aegon chided him.

“I’m not, but well, I don’t want her to be lonely. Father’s away all the time. I think she’s sad about it too,” the small boy replied. “I saw her crying the other day.”

Aegon snorted.

“Aren’t you going to miss her? She cares about you.”

“She doesn’t. I think she’s excited for me to go,” he replied.

I would be too, Arya thought.

“It’ll just be me and Mother now, Aegon. I’ll miss you, like I miss Rhaenys.” The boy’s timid admission was vulnerable and heartfelt. He left himself wide open to his brother’s taunts.

Aegon cast appraising eyes over his brother and graced him with a weirdly kind smile before placing a comforting arm around his shoulders. “No need. I’ll be back soon. We’ll watch out for each other and one day we’ll rule Westeros together, you and I.”

The scene dissolved again and Arya returned to Bran’s side.

“So that’s Jon’s brother, huh? Aegon,” she scoffed. “What a prick. Respect is earned, not entitled.”

“That is a lesson he hasn’t learned yet, I’m afraid,” Bran said tiredly. “I wanted to show these particular scenes from Jon’s past because you may meet Aegon soon, and you should be prepared.”

“You’ve seen this? The future?” Arya asked curiously. “That’s brilliant,” she smiled. “It must be very useful. Like, you could dodge unpleasant meetings like this future one.”

The laugh Bran gave didn’t come only from his mouth. The laugh was in his eyes, in the way his face changed into that sight of relaxed joy and unrestrained mirth. Yet truly, it wasn't in his face either. His laugh came from within, with child-like innocence, vibrant and free. The sound of his snickers and giggles transported Arya for a moment to a castle with massive walls of grey granite...

“Oh, Arya,” Bran said, interrupting her line of thought, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

“I was just being silly. I know now that this isn’t easy for you,” Arya started to say apologetically.

“Please, be as silly as you can be. I cannot remember the last time I actually…laughed.”

Arya felt a deep pang of sadness for the boy who had borne such burdens. “Well, then I will try to make you laugh more often, for sure,” she replied gently.

He smiled, his voice deep with emotion. “If we meet often then I definitely shall.”

Suddenly, Arya felt tired. She felt the drag of sheer exhaustion pulling at her limbs and her eyes started to drop without her permission.

“Your fatigue was caused by the way you came to be here,” Bran told her. “That is why I only visit you and Jon through dreams. Otherwise, I would spend too much energy.”

“But I don’t know how to control dreams like you,” Arya whined. “And I can’t talk to Jon like that.”

“You must try and practice patience little wolf,” Bran said while Arya yawned. “You and Jon have a very long and, at times, heartbreaking journey in front of you. It will not be easy but at its end, you will have each other. You must decide if it is worth it.”

“It is,” Arya affirmed. “He is. I mean, you both are. I just…I just want to be close to the both of you. It’s not every day that one learns that they have a brother and a cousin like this.”

“There is no more interference now. I’ll help you practice,” Bran told her. “But for now, sleep. Go home.”

Arya rested her head on Bran’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Despite the exhaustion, somehow, she felt a renewed sense of energy.


	9. Name day

“Magic is hard,” an eleven-year-old Arya declared, lifting her eyes to the mirror.

“Don’t say that,” Rhaenys admonished from the other side. “We’ve been over this. Magic is closer to your world’s science and technology than the things you consider to be mystical.”

“I know, I know,” she replied, trying not to whine. “But-”

“No buts! If you can cross through worlds and connect with a direwolf then you can learn how to heal that wound in your leg.”

No one had ever out-stubborned Arya before. She was a champion at making up her mind on a matter and steadfastly adhering to it. Forever.

But Rhaenys, she was not a quitter, either. Her resolve was made of steel, she never gave up. She had decided that Arya would conquer the ability to heal cuts and bruises, and so she would.

“But don’t you think it’s weird?” Arya insisted, abandoning her task. “How come some people can use it and some can't?”

“Don’t you see? It’s better this way,” Rhaenys argued. “If everyone could learn, then it would be chaotic.”

“Not to things like this! Everyone could learn first aid. Magic could be something the commoners enjoy. And if everyone could do magic, your technology could advance. Can you imagine if people learned how to use magic in a way that gave them a basic knowledge of, I don’t know, electricity?”

“Oh, not the commoners talk again. If we lived in an ideal world like yours, I would agree, but Westeros is not prepared for something like that.”

"I don’t think my world is ideal. My dad says too many people suffer every day and we shouldn’t waste the opportunities we have.”

“That is very wise,” Rhaenys smiled.

“Anyway, from what you said, the closest thing Westeros has to a democratic use of magic is that some can choose to go to the Citadel and learn to be a maester.”

“Exactly! Have I told you about Lord Tarly’s eldest son?” when Arya shook her head indicating that she hadn’t, Rhaenys continued, “House Tarly of Horn Hill is a noble house of the Reach, one of the strongest sworn to House Tyrell, my husband’s House. So I have a little influence over them and, after meeting them, I convinced Lord Tarly to send Samwell to Oldtown. He was so grateful, I hope he can be happy as a maester.”

“You see? More people should be able to go,” Arya said.

Rhaenys was quiet for a moment. “If there was a way to use magic to improve people’s lives, the Maesters would discover and share it,” she was saying, but paused. “Or not. They might be against sharing it, now that I think about it, maybe they don’t want things to change,” she said, lowering her voice. “Your world’s weapons are more powerful than a mage. The latter can only fire a few spells before needing rest, while the former can be used by anybody, can be reloaded at will, and is precise.”

Walking slowly towards the mirror, Rhaenys glanced at Arya with a worried expression.

“Well I don’t know anything about weapons,” Arya said lightly. “And I don’t know why they wouldn’t want more people knowing how to use magic. My teacher said ancient people in my world had to spend a large portion of their time each day working, just to feed themselves, leaving little time or resources left over for learning and inventing things. Westeros is just like that, isn’t it? If more people went to that school they could learn how to make life easier, right?”

Rhaenys laughed. “Since we’re talking about learning, I think you should try again to heal that wound, it will soon turn into a scab.”

“Fiiine,” Arya exhaled and laughed in defeat.

*****

The next day was a challenge for Arya on many levels. She had a difficult time focusing at school, remembering the fight she had with her mother the previous night. Arya was highly aware that she was acting distant and uninterested about her real life, but it was becoming harder to balance the two universes. She was a little embarrassed to realize she was being a hypocrite, saying to Rhaenys that people should be able to learn when she herself didn’t feel like making much of an effort at her school.

The previous week she had found her assignment interesting, so she actually sat down and did her homework carefully. When the teacher gave the paper back he had a strange, re-evaluating look, like he’d never seen her before and said, “Good job, Stark.” It would have been great if he had left it at that, but he sent a note to her parents instead and she had spent the night hearing about wasted potentials and comparisons to her siblings and, by the end, Arya was more determined to not do her best at school then to apply herself.

She had established a kind of routine on weekdays— she woke up, ate breakfast with her family, went to school, and then went to her extracurricular activities (kung fu classes on Mondays and Wednesdays, fencing classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays; Fridays were reserved to do homework that she accumulated over the week). When she got home, she usually met Rhaenys through the mirror, then dined with her family and finally talked to Bran or Jon (or both) in her sleep.

Bran had explained to her that she shouldn’t cross to Westeros often, and she hadn’t since the previous year. After Bran had explained everything on her tenth birthday, she woke up in Rhaenys’ arms and barely had the energy to go back home. When she arrived, she slept for nearly two days, worrying her family tremendously. So Arya had avoided crossing to the other universe, preferring to talk to her friends through a safe distance, and tried not to draw her parent’s attention. The plus side was that she had avoided the unpleasant meeting with Aegon Bran had predicted.

That day, when she returned home tired but excited to practice Water Dance with Rhaenys, she was surprised to find Robb in her bedroom.

“You know, I was hoping to find more weird things in your room,” he said with a loopy smile.

“I’m eleven. Nothing I do is weird,” she replied at once.

“Oh that’s definitely not true,” Robb said, raising one eyebrow. “I hear you talking through the walls almost every day, but I never see you with a friend. So, who is it? A boyfriend?”

“Ew, no. I talk to a friend,” she said, trying not to look at the mirror.

“Who?”

“You don’t know her.”

“Exactly. Maybe I should meet her, make sure you’re not talking to some weirdo.”

Sitting on her bed with knees spread wide and one arm thrown over the back of the headboard, Robb slowly made his way through a book that was on her bedside table, showing no indication he was leaving the room anytime soon.

Sansa seemed too caught up in her own simple life of boys and drama, makeup and shopping, but Robb wouldn’t make fun of her if she told him about Westeros, maybe he would believe that he too had lived there. For a minute, Arya considered letting him stay, calling Rhaenys and sharing this secret with her brother. 

But she wouldn’t.

She had talked to Bran about it already. Their family wouldn’t be able to cross —he had made sure of it, for their own sake— so why give Robb a taste of something he wouldn’t be able to enjoy?

So she gave up on training with her friend that day, hoping she would not mind Arya’s absence, and instead opted to pass a little time with her older brother. They went to the yard to play basketball and everything seemed perfectly calm.

*****

That night, in her dreams, she found herself in Westeros once more, through Nymeria’s eyes.

She had chosen that name to her direwolf instantly after Rhaenys told her the story of the princess of the Rhoynar. Arya found it fascinating, often asking her friend about Westeros’ history and why she was not the heir to the throne, since her mother was a Martell, who actually had no laws against female rulers. It had led to numerous discussions that ended with a laughing Rhaenys declaring that Arya was too revolutionary. She wasn’t put out by that and felt proud to be able to offer a different perspective to someone so important, secretly considering herself a sort of foreign counsellor to a future governor—at least, that was what she considered Rhaenys to be.

And talking about foreign, that was the first world Arya associated with the scenario Nymeria presented to her that night. She wasn’t in the usual forest she usually roamed. It wasn’t a forest at all. There was mainly scrub, made up of flowering shrubs and some small evergreen trees, which were sparse and few. She could hear the ocean somewhere near.

It was confusing, not at all what she was expecting, so she howled, calling for the familiarity of the white direwolf.  Ghost soon appeared and Arya felt moderately calmer, but she was still intrigued, needing to know how they got there. And where was it?

So she woke up alarmed and got out of bed quickly. She tiptoed to her mirror and, closing her eyes, called softly, “Jon.”

She had never tried to talk to him like this, their conversation usually included Bran or their direwolves, but Arya felt that she wouldn’t fall asleep easily enough, so she had to try. Hoping that Jon had a mirror wherever he was, she called again.

“This is surreal,” came his laughing voice from the other side.

“It worked!” she cheered. “It’s so good to see you.”

“It really is,” he smiled. “The best gift someone could ask for on their name day.”

“Name day?” Arya asked blankly. “Oh, like a birthday?”

“Isn’t that why we’re talking like this?” he asked in turn. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah…” she replied sheepishly, realizing she could have waited till morning. “I was confused by the wolf dream. Didn’t understand where Nymeria was. Is she with you?”

“Oh, yes. I haven’t been sleeping well so I couldn't tell you or Bran. I moved. I came to live in Dragonstone by my lord father’s orders.”

“That’s where your brother lives, right?” Arya couldn’t disguise the worry in her voice.

“Actually, not anymore. He went to King’s Landing since Father told us he was going to travel East,” Jon said almost indifferently, but his eyes were hurt. “So Aegon went to sit on the Iron Throne during his absence, and I came here, to Dragonstone, which is the seat of the heir apparent of the Targaryens. It is all very formal, now people call me the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“Ooh, Your Majesty,” Arya said in a sort of mock pompousness.

“Don’t start,” he blushed, with a small smile.

“So, what is there like?” she asked curiously.

“Well, it has wet weather all year round and a moderate temperature, I’m told. The sea ceaselessly erodes the rocky coast creating tunnels, arches and caves, which I would like to explore,” he said, then lowered his voice. “But the castle itself is a very grim place. It was built by Valyrians with arcane arts, fire, and sorcery to look like there are dragons everywhere.”

“Sounds spooky,” she said softly. “I wish I could see it.”

"That’s not what people say when they are spooked!" She burst into laughter. He stared at her for a moment, then chuckled.

“OK, waking you and appearing in your mirror is not a good enough gift,” Arya said, her hands on her hips. “I want you to close your eyes and count to ten. Can you do that?”

“I wasn’t sleeping you know,” he said, his face spread into a wide smile, but other than placing his hands over his eyes, he didn't move. 

Arya concentrated and crossed to his room, feeling dizzy for a few moments after arriving at his bedroom. She tried to use her Water Dancing training (which she was learning with Rhaenys) to not make a sound with her footsteps, but she must have caused a swish of air around Jon, since he reached out into the space in front of him, his eyes still closed. She dodged and quickly kissed him on his right cheek, making him spun to the right; then she quickly pressed a kiss on his left cheek, and he spun to the left. She laughingly sang out, 

“Over here!” and, whipping around, he hooked an arm around the space in front of him, picking up a giggling Arya and swinging her around.

“How’d you know it was me?” she teased, leaning forward to hug him.

“I’d know you anywhere, Stark.”

"Happy Birthday Jon," she whispered into his ear. 

She was happy to be there and thought of a present she could give him. Springing away, she pulled her necklace out from under her shirt, opened the clasp and extended it to him.

“Thank you,” he said, turning it to see the wolf charm closer, looking fascinated. 

He grabbed her hand and moved them to what looked like a settee, his arm resting on the back of it, and smiled when she scooted over and cuddled into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Are you sad to be away from your father and siblings?” Arya asked after a long moment.

He stiffened but replied genuinely. “It’s—complicated. I miss Rhaenys, but I partly feel relieved, in all honesty. I don’t know what I would say to them if we actually talked,” he explained. He looked down into her eyes for a moment, then swallowed hard and continued, 

“It makes me somewhat angry that Father told me to stay here, claiming it’s because he cares so much about me. I thought I would be able to at least see my brother, but he had to move to King’s Landing promptly, since our father has simply made arrangements and left with my aunt and uncle in a ship to Essos, without even telling us.” Jon exhaled heavily. “I just…of course it upsets me that he’s going, but I wasn’t surprised. He has never been good at communication, and it only got worse after Mother passed.”

Arya wrapped her arms around his waist tightly. “I’m sorry that he’s hurt you.”

Jon relaxed a little bit then and she looked up at him to find his eyes already on her.

“I’m really grateful for you,” he said. It was gruff, and a little unsure, but it was there. “I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through the last few years if you weren’t in my life.”

“I’m glad to have you too. As a brother, a cousin or an interdimensional friend. Life’s easier with you.”

She reached and took one of his hands tightly in hers, then started playing with his fingers to keep herself awake. 

“Jon,” Arya started, languidly tracing a finger along his palm. “What do you want to do when you grow up?”

“I’m a man grown already,” he said. “Six and ten today.”

“Not really. My brother is almost seventeen and he can be very immature. So come on, what will you do?”

“It is hard to say,” he admitted. “The plan has always been to be useful, I suppose. It depends on what my brother thinks after he is crowned and has his own heir. Until then, I’ll be here and hopefully know the sworn lords. I already heard some talk of problems with smugglers and pirates,” he finished seriously. Then he added with a grin, “Or I could go to the Wall and join the Night’s Watch.”

“The Night’s Watch?”

“It’s the order of the black brothers, who defend the realms of men from what lies beyond the Wall.” 

“The name sounds familiar,” she tried to remember, and her brows furrowed.

“I was the commander of the Night’s Watch in Bran’s visions about the… other life.”

“Oh,” she choked out, remembering the pain she had felt then.

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to die there twice.” He smirked as she rolled her eyes in response to his attempt to joke. “My place is here for now.”

They were both quiet for a moment while he held her gaze, both silently pleading for their fate to be different this time around, wanting each other to be safe.

Trying to change the subject, she frowned. “But what would you want to do, if you could choose?”

“I’ve never given it much thought. Mayhaps travel. I would like to visit the North. And, I suppose, in another life I could have lived happily in Oldtown learning how to do magic to distinguish myself.”

Arya sat straight up, eyes alight with excitement. “So you do want to learn magic,” she smiled. “In my world, adults are always asking us what we want to do or be when we grow up, but I don’t know what I will do. I can’t tell people I want to learn magic. But you could!”

Jon gently pushed her shoulder back down until she tucked herself under his arm again.

“It feels nonsensical to even discuss it. It’s not as if it’s ever been a choice. Familial obligations don’t allow Targaryens to choose their spouse or career. Much. I don’t think about what I would want because pursuing a want is a privilege I will never have.” He ran his fingers slowly through her hair.

“That’s so sad,” she replied.

“That, my dear Stark, is life in Westeros,” he stated without emotion, removing his hand from her hair.

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes before she picked his hand up and placed it back on her head, scrunching his fingers for him. With a chuckle that rumbled against her cheek, he took the hint and massaged her scalp with his fingertips. Arya rolled her head back and forth practically purring. She was starting to feel tired again, and before long noticed Jon’s breathing change, becoming slower and more steady, his fingers stopping their movements. She rearranged him into a more comfortable position, hoping he would fall into a peaceful sleep.

She was moving across his room towards the mirror when suddenly she heard a resoundingly loud crash of broken glass, followed by a muffled roar. She felt the adrenaline kick in and quickly followed the hushed sound of sobs that were coming from somewhere below.

She found it easier to ignore the chance that it might be dangerous rather than ignore the soft cry she had heard.

She hadn’t expected to lose her energy amid the countless stairway steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! RL has been crazy so I haven't had much time to write lately, but I haven't given up. Anyway, if anyone is still reading, I hope you're safe and healthy.


	10. The rescue

Jon opened his eyes to see his mother sitting in his bed as she used to when he was little, but now the moon cast a sinister glow on her features. Sitting still, she was looking at him, but Jon thought that she wasn't truly seeing him, considering that she wasn’t blinking and her eyes were strangely blue. The sight of those eyes sent fear through him sharp as a knife. Besides, she was pale— too pale, while her fingers were purple.

Jon called her softly, making her eyes focus on him, razor-sharp. Suddenly she opened her mouth in a silent scream, her face a twist of anguish. He called her, grabbing her shoulders, but she didn’t answer. It wasn’t the first time this happened.

The dreams in which Lyanna visited like this were growing in both intensity and number, now coming to him every night and tearing his days asunder. They bled into his more wholesome daylight thoughts, half-remembered words and sights and sounds that felt all too dark, and far too confusing for him to process. That was the reason why he hadn’t been able to talk to Arya and Bran the last month or so, his mind was never at rest enough for him to reach them.

_Jon_ , a voice whispered near him. _Jon, look away_.

It was Bran’s voice, Jon realized, as if the mere thought of him had manifested the boy.

Jon blinked, and when he opened his eyes, his mother had disappeared and he was transported to the Great Weirwood Tree, near the younger boy. As Jon approached him, he noticed that Bran kept blinking as if he was uncomfortable.

“Are you alright, Bran?”

The redhead gave a pained grimace. “Yes. I—all of the beings in the castle are just rather agitated, it’s very distracting.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something is coming your way.” His tone was faraway, in a kind of other understanding that sounded almost sinister. “Something big. The creatures know… All the creatures can sense it. They’re all trying to flee—I can sense them all. It’s so much. In my head. All at once.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Bran's eyes widened in alarm, his body recoiled, and he shouted, “Arya!”

“What about her?” Jon exclaimed, rushing over and dropping to his knees in front of the boy.

“She’s in Dragonstone. That’s where you were, right?”

“Yes, I— She visited me tonight, through the mirror. Is that bad?”

“No, but she can’t stay too long, or she won’t have the energy to go back. And right now someone’s got her.”

“I have to go back,” Jon gasped, his heart pounding. Why did he fall asleep when she had been there?

“I’ll help you,” Bran blurted. “It won’t be comfortable, but you’ll wake faster. Forgive me,” he said, before grabbing Jon’s arm.

The world turned on its axis and Jon woke all at once.

It was still dark. That was the first thing he was aware of when he opened his eyes.

That, and that his head was pounding as if he had downed bottles of Dornish wine the night before. There was a heaviness in his limbs. Sitting up was a fit on its own, and he couldn’t quite discern the metallic taste lingering in his mouth. Still, the only thing that mattered was to find her.

He forced himself to stand and shakily stumbled to the door of his bedchambers, reaching for his sword on his way.

He didn’t notice the scent at first, but it suddenly pierced through the static haze that had presided over him since he opened his eyes. Like a spell, when he inhaled Jon was abruptly returned to his senses, and he realized he was detecting Arya’s scent. Before he understood what happened, he was standing more easily, locating the source behind the closed door then the corridor then the stairs then the kitchens.

Dark figures loomed at him from the doorways and corners, the statues that he had had no time to admire before, that seemed to be alerting him of a possible threat. He dodged around them, not stopping long enough to see their faces. And yet, he felt it was likely that there might be something watching him from just beyond his peripheral, waiting for him to take the next step.

To his chagrin, Arya was nowhere in sight.

“My prince! Can I help you?” Ser Jonothor Darry, who should’ve been guarding Jon’s door that night, greeted him from a random alcove, having obviously been occupied with a kitchen-maid Jon didn't recognize, who was scrambling to arrange her dress.

“Have you seen a little girl with strange vestments?” Jon asked quickly, his eyes averted.

When the knight reluctantly shook his head, the woman said, “Aye, she was here, m’lord. But she left with a couple of men in a pony cart. Said they were fishermen supplying the kitchens.”

That worried Jon even more. “What?” he asked tersely. “Two men?”

“Aye, one of ‘em said he was her father. She seemed to be sleeping, so he was carrying her…” Her voice dwindled. Jon was no longer standing there, but running across the courtyard at breakneck speed towards the stable.

Five minutes later he arrived at the fishing village, just in time to see one of the docks populated with five sailors loading provisions into a skiff, a second one floating about five miles ahead, and a longship awaiting in the distance. Dawn was breaking, and pale ripples of light shimmered on the surface of the sea. Behind him, Jon could hear a horse approaching – _that must be Ser Jonothor_ – and beyond that, he heard—no, he didn’t hear them, but he knew the direwolves were coming.

"Stop!" Jon commanded, drawing the attention of the men on the dock. He drew his sword and alerted them, “You won’t have her without a fight.”

The leader was a slight man with brown eyes and an ordinary face weathered by the elements. Something in his countenance pulled at Jon’s memories. He blinked and tried to remember clearly, but it got away from him.

"We don't want to fight, my Lord," the man said. “But we would be disobeying higher orders if the girl doesn’t arrive where she is supposed to.”

Trying to remain understanding, Jon demanded Arya’s location. This was when he found it difficult to stay calm. She was already on the boat, and if he had delayed a little longer she would have sailed away without him knowing how to find her.

“By higher-order you mean my father, the king,” Jon affirmed, but the man’s eyes betrayed him. “No. Aegon.”

He didn't need any confirmation— he could read everything he needed in the set of the smuggler’s shoulders and the way he kept a hand close to his sword. Jon chose that moment to dismount, in an attempt to show the smugglers that he didn’t mean to harm them if they cooperated.

As soon as his feet hit the ground, he felt it. A harsh pounding echoed through the earth, cold and ugly and wrong. Jon stared at the path in front of him, and it was as if the water, the waves and the sea were coming up towards him, barreling towards him too fast. He clung to the saddle of his horse and shivered, glancing at the boat that was sailing ahead, certain that it was the source of that gut-wrenching feeling. 

He couldn’t waste time trying to understand it, however, seeing that when he narrowed his eyes to surveil the farther skiff, he recognized a familiar figure looking back. The person dove headfirst into the waves, submerging himself in the water. Jon felt his stomach sink. It was Aegon, he was sure of it.

Then he realized that if Aegon was nearby, a horde of men that were sworn to protect him would be following, along with the pirates that he had employed to get Arya. How would Jon face them all on his own?

“I’m going to get her,” Jon said gravely hoping that his inner turmoil had not been noticed yet. Looking back in the direction of the white cloak behind him, he added, “There is no need for a fight.” Then he addressed the men in front of him, “Believe me, it won’t end well for you if we do, so I suggest that you leave any weapon that you bear on the ground.”

A bird sang with reckless abandon in the sky above them. Apart from the heavy breathing from the men, it was all Jon could hear as he counted the seconds.

“Do it,” the leader of the group finally said, laying his sword on the ground. “We’re not in the business of kidnapping children m’lord. I told Your Grace that, but he didn’t change his mind once he saw her. We were actually hired to grab you, something about your name day, and turning you into a grown man. Thought it was harmless, me, if you’ll pardon my bluntness, m’lord— I mean, my prince. But then on our way up, he saw her. Don’t know what he wants with her, but he took her to that skiff there, before boarding the other with his weird friend. It isn’t right, even if he was the King of the Seven Kingdoms, to take a little girl who is sleeping in the stairs, instead of waking her and sending her to her bed. I’ll take no part in it.”

“I’m obliged to you,” Jon said respectfully.

“Davos Seaworth, my prince. At your service,” he answered bowing his head.

Jon found it hard to place him, but the feeling that he knew the man remained. He pushed it to the back of his mind, though, and asked Davos to show him where Arya was, while Ser Jonothor inspected the weapons.

When he entered the boat, the foreboding feeling returned. With his heart galloping in his chest, Jon quickly located its precious cargo, tucked in a corner above a pile of cloths. He gathered her in his arms, surprised that she weighed even less than she appeared. The joy of having found her dwindled into a gut-wrenching fear as he realized that she didn’t even stir when he climbed to his feet or called her name.

“Arya, wake up,” he tried again. Anxiety coursed through him when she didn’t open her eyes. 

After disembarking with Davos’ help, Jon tried to reach his horse as quickly as he could. But it was too late. A whisper stirred in the air behind him, and he turned to see Aegon emerge from the water. It was foolish to believe Jon could be faster than him, Aegon’s boat had not been so distant after all. 

Jon stopped, adjusted his grip around his little friend, breathed out slow as he closed his eyes. He thought of his family; of his frustration and anger at always being left behind, all the long days of waiting to hear word, the bittersweet joy... he wasn’t useless to them, they wanted him in Dragonstone, where he could do some good, away from the Red Keep’s gossip and schemes. Maybe he could think of a way to deal with Aegon, make him understand Jon was on his side. He hoped he could.

“Why, ’tis the Prince of Dragonstone,” Aegon hissed in that tone that meant he was in a vicious mood. Jon fought down the urge to shudder when his brother’s mouth twisted in a mocking grin. “Or is it Prince of Thieves?”

Although Aegon looked angry, a fire alight deep in his purple eyes, Jon probably had the same look now, he would wager, even though he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, worry pulling at him until he thought he wouldn’t breathe again. _Don’t make me fight you,_ Jon thought _. Please._

“Well, aren’t you happy to see me?” Aegon asked pleasantly while he tried to wring the water from his long silver-blond hair. His satin tunic striped black and red and the leather jerkin with silver studs that were probably worn to impress looked almost comical all wet, having lost all of its splendour.

“Brother,” Jon said as disarmingly as he could manage. “It is good to see you. We’ll have to chat more over at the castle. In fact, I think I’ll meet you there. You know… to get this little one out of the cold.” Looking over at Arya, he added with an unmistakable edge to his voice, “Even if there was no need for her to be here.”

"Isn’t that sweet? Here _I_ am, wet and cold from having to swim to prevent your thievery-”

“I’m the thief?” Jon barked an incredulous laugh. He cradled Arya more firmly against his chest. “Truly, I don’t know what you mean, brother.”

“What I mean is that you should be welcoming _me_ , your own blood and the heir to the Seven Kingdoms. You should be my most loyal servant. Instead, you’ve only proven to me that men fall easily to the sway of foolishness.”

“I would have gladly welcomed you had I known that you were here, instead of at the Red Keep, as your letter that reached me a fortnight ago had affirmed you'd be. Tell me, why have you been hiding since I arrived at Dragonstone two days ago?” Jon snapped, losing control of his temper in a way he had tried very hard to avoid doing with Aegon since childhood. He inhaled sharply to calm down. “No. It matters not. I’m worried about you, brother. What has passed to make you so distrustful of me? To make you kidnap children?”

“What happened is that _I_ will be king, not you. If Azor Ahai serves someone, that someone is _me_ ,” Aegon roared.

Jon couldn't find his voice, the shock keeping him from answering. At that moment the other skiff had returned to the shore and soon Aegon was flanked by heavily armoured men. The angry expression of Aegon’s face eased and his eyes became mocking again.

“There is no longer a need to play coy, brother dear,” Aegon continued. “That girl is no ordinary child, as you well know it. I wonder how you’ve come to know her, to capture her before I was even aware of her arrival. Now, if you are truly a loyal brother, you will prove it. Hand her over.”

Jon’s grip on Arya tightened incrementally. The wave of protectiveness that washed over him was all-consuming and instantaneous. But there was no time to answer as a growl interrupted his thoughts, followed quickly by another. 

Ghost and Nymeria suddenly stepped out from the undergrowth. The growls intensified from warning to foreboding as they stalked towards them, and Aegon lifted his sword in an attempt of defence.

“Is this how you show loyalty, Jon?” Aegon asked in a tremulous voice when Ghost’s ears lowered, primed for an attack. “Control your beasts now or there will be consequences.”

“Ghost, stay,” Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still." He looked up at his brother. "He won't attack you.”

Nymeria stalked closer to Jon’s left flank. He took the chance and settled Arya on top of the direwolf, trusting that if things got worse she would be taken to safety, despite being asleep.

The moment girl and wolf made contact, however, Arya woke. Her eyes popped open and she sat up atop Nymeria as if she was mounting a horse.

“Arya, go with Nymeria to the castle,” Jon said in a low voice, drawing her attention before anything else happened.

“Is that… your brother?” she asked, frowning in confusion, with sleep in her eyes.

Instead of replying, Jon turned to Nymeria, who looked at him knowingly. “Take her,” he whispered. “You’ve been such a good girl. Take her to the castle we were in yesterday, will you? Keep her safe. But hurry.”

“No!” Arya exclaimed. “I'll stay with you.”

It was adorable how she worried about him. Jon was a man grown and this child, this skinny little thing, was worried about him. Despite the precariousness of their current situation, Jon couldn’t help but give a small smile.

“I'll be fine! I promise,” he reassured her, maintaining his voice low. “Unless something happens to you. So go, please.”

Arya clutched Nymeria’s fur and on the next moment, they were off. Jon watched Arya’s face transform from confusion to alarm as their eyes met. He heard her call his name and hoped that she would understand his urgency.

Aegon looked as if he would erupt. He shouted to the men that had arrived from the skiff. “Stop her! Shoot the wolf!” Jon prepared to race to stop them, heart pounding as one of the men pulled arrows from his quiver, but Aegon noticed in time. “Ser Jonothor, I command you to seize my brother. He has some answers to give.”

Jon was grateful that Ser Jonothor at least hesitated. By rights, his job was to protect the king and his heir without question. But his pause gave Jon the chance to dodge and throw the nearest rock he picked on the ground at the bowman.

“I pray you, good lords,” Aegon said loudly addressing his men. “Try not to harm my brother. Much.”

In the midst of the chaos that followed, Jon was surprised thrice. 

The first time was when Davos and his crewmates joined him and Ghost in the fight. Jon unsheathed his longsword to defend himself and soon heard the clang of metal and the grunts of battle and hoped that it would be enough to give Arya time to escape. In a moment of respite, he inspected the scene and—

_Fuck_. 

Surprise number two: one of Aegon’s allies was a person Jon had met only once, but it was an encounter that had been sufficient for him to know the man was barbaric. Euron Greyjoy.

The ironborn was about to strike down one of Davos’ men, but Jon managed to step in and block him swiftly, throwing off his blade. Euron was laughing madly. The next two attacks came from him, both harsh and quick. But Jon was quicker, blocking and ducking to avoid the blows, and with his block came a retaliation. He threw off Euron’s sword with a yell and nimbly ducked beneath his swinging arm. The speed and power of his swing let him spin around to face him, and their swords met with a loud clang between them.

That’s when the third surprise appeared.

The sound of a snarl caught their attention, and both men turned towards the sound. Yellow eyes. Grey fur. A freezing dread gripped Jon’s guts when he realized Arya had returned. Nymeria suddenly closed her teeth around Euron’s leg, and he was thrown backwards. 

Arya looked nervous, but in her eyes there was determination. “I have a plan!” She shouted. “Nymeria, let’s go!” The direwolf took off running in the opposite direction of the castle, towards the sea.

Jon saw an arrow flying in her direction and time seemed to slow down. There was nothing he could do, but he still extended his hand, willing the arrow to miss its target. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought he felt the tips of his fingers tingling and then it was as if the arrow had changed its trajectory.

When he lowered his eyes to check on Arya, who had reached the dock, he noticed she was hesitating at the edge, looking down intensely at the water.

Aegon took off running towards her, yelling for the companions he brought who were still standing to stop shooting arrows because the girl ought not to be harmed.

“Arya!” Jon choked before he could stop himself.

He saw her close her eyes and together, she and Nymeria jumped into the sea. Curiously, the water didn’t splash when they fell. When minutes passed and they didn’t return, Jon understood. Arya had used the water’s surface as a mirror. Everyone stared, astonished.

Suddenly a huge tentacle emerged from the sea. Just like Ghost and Nymeria, the Greyjoys had their own Familiar. A kraken. Jon knew Euron had the power to summon it. Usually, the person capable of doing so was the heir of each house, and Euron was but the third son of House Greyjoy, so that had been the cause of a major disruption on the Iron Islands, which was yet to be resolved. 

Jon breathed a sigh of relief when the creature, despite obviously searching for the little she-wolf, apparently found nothing beneath the surface. Jon seized the commotion to silently communicate to Ghost that he should leave.

“Not bad little brother!” Aegon shouted from the dock as he walked towards Euron Greyjoy. “I'm sorry to tell you, but you’ll regret the decisions you’ve made today. Not to worry, I won't kill you. You are my brother still. But remember to keep your eyes open, every day that you stay here at this grim place I called home most of my life. Watch out for its shadows. Especially now that Ser Jonothor will not be with you.”

The Kingsguard knight, who had stood beside Aegon all this time, gave Jon a pained look. Then Aegon demonstrated what a fine education in the arts of magic could do. With a shake of his hand, he stopped the bleeding in Euron’s leg. 

And with a second shake, quicksand was formed beneath Jon’s and the smugglers’ feet. Startled, they started to sink in.

“I wouldn’t struggle if I were you,” Aegon said in the distance as he walked towards the boat. When he reached it, the loose sand was already in Jon’s knees. “I have faith that you’ll escape, dear Jon! But some of the others… Well, let us see if you can save these pirates too. Some of them have to be punished, after all.”

He sailed away soon enough, while sand kept forcing Jon down.

One of the men was already drowning in the quicksand, too far out for anyone to lend aid. His hands had scrabbled for purchase, his voice quiet except for a strangled breath as he tried to keep his head above the line.

Jon concentrated and called Ghost, sure that he wouldn’t delay, believing the direwolf wouldn’t be affected by the sand because he hadn't been targeted by the spell.

“Stay calm or you will sink faster!” he told the others. 

The screams and pleas and sobs continued, however, and Ghost didn’t arrive in time to save all of them. By the end of it, Davos’ crew was reduced from five to three, he included.

“I am so sorry,” Jon lamented, hours later, within the security of the castle while they gathered their energies. “It is my fault you were involved in this.”

Davos made his way over to Jon and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I do not regret my decision to aid you, my prince, and I’m sure the others feel the same,” he said firmly. “Earlier you saved my son from the ironborn. I cannot express my gratitude.”

“And you saved someone I hold dear,” Jon said, shaking his head. “You owe me nothing.”

“Perhaps not,” Davos agreed. "But mayhaps a friendship can emerge from all this. After all, no one gains the title of Prince of Thieves and does nothing with it."

Jon shook the hand Davos extended and gave a small laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so this chapter has been rattling in my head for a VERY long time, and because that's my life, has taken a LONG time to get into words as well.  
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos and bookmarks and everything! It's been encouraging and helping me keep motivated to write this crazy adventure :)


	11. Welcome aboard

At first, the sensation hadn’t been very different. 

Then she was in the water.

Back in the dock, when Arya had decided going home was the best strategy to save Jon, she had imagined the sea turning into that sort of bright silvery mist that allowed her to cross universes, and imagined herself succeeding. It was what she usually did when crossing through a mirror. When she jumped with Nymeria, she thought it had worked.

Apparently, the reflective surface of the water was not equivalent to glass in terms of magic properties, however, so when she crossed, she did not step into her bedroom.

She did not step at all.

Arya found herself beneath the water with Nymeria and knew that, despite being in the sea, they had been transported. Trying not to be afraid ( _fear cuts deeper than swords_ , Rhaenys taught her), she let her body relax as she sank deeper into the water, gaining the impulse to prop herself upwards. As she sank into the cold blue of the ocean, it felt like it was embracing her to its depths. _Calm as still water._

She opened her eyes to the blurry sting of the seawater. The surface seemed distant above them and a shadow blocked the light. It seemed like the underside of a boat. Arya looked at Nym, worried. Suddenly she felt like the direwolf could read her thoughts, and she could read hers, because Arya got the message deep in those yellow eyes, that she should just hold on.

Nymeria was a great swimmer. In instants, they had reached the boat, which carried three men with old fashioned fishing gears.

They shouted in surprise, alarmed by the sudden presence of a girl and a giant wolf. A giant wolf who barely fit in the boat they were in. Arya tried to calm them when they started pointing knives, but they were so frightened that no word of hers seemed to convince them she meant no harm. Nymeria’s defensive growls weren’t helping either. An idea popped into Arya’s head then, and she hoped it wouldn’t backfire.

“I- I was sent by-” she stammered. “By the Gods!” She tried to sound confident. “Me and my wolf. We are here to protect you on your journey.”

“The Gods?" one of the men asked. “Which Gods?”

“Yours!” Arya replied quickly, and seeing the expressions on their faces, instinctively amended words that had appeared in many of her dreams, “ _Valar morghulis_.”

That managed to change their countenance. The trio became serious and one of them replied, “ _Valar dohaeris_ ,” while the two others dropped to their knees.

Arya was surprised by the response but was even more astounded when one of the men said they had to take her to the other vessel. They were sailors from a bigger watercraft, who were only using the fishing boat temporarily while the ship’s occupants explored a nearby island. 

Arya saw no way around it. For now, she and Nym were going to have to play along until she thought of a way to go home.

Arya wrapped her arms tightly around Nym and shivered. The day was grey and windy, but at least that was helping them move faster. They made a turn around a small hill, approaching the outskirts of an island where the most massive ship she had ever laid her eyes on was anchored. It was a proper carrack, which seemed to have come to life straight out from a history book.

After a while, they boarded, and the whole time Arya experienced the urge to flee. This was not where she was supposed to be, it wasn’t where she intended to go.

She was led to the deck and everyone on her way seemed alarmed by the sight of the direwolf. A thin man in his mid-twenties, dressed impeccably in red and black, appeared before her, tall and imposing, with short pale silver-gold hair.

“What is the meaning of this,” he asked, reaching for his sword.

“She appeared literally out of nowhere, my prince. Said she was sent by the Gods!” The sailor replied. “We- we thought it best to bring her, and her beast, seeing that the little one means us no harm.”

“I will be the judge of that, you ignorant imbecile,” the younger man said sharply. Arya’s brows furrowed in indignation on behalf of the man.

“Actually, your brother will be the one to decide, Your Grace,” came a voice in reply. “We should send for him and your sister, don’t you agree, prince Viserys?”

Arya was surprised to see the voice belonged to a dwarf. He was fascinating, with mismatched eyes of green and black that peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it also seemed white.

“Shut your mouth, imp,” the other man said. “Why is it that every second I speak your ugly self appears to torment me?”

“Well, my prince, it seems that the Seven want to make you pay for your sins, so they sent a little demon to do their deed.”

Inwardly, Arya cringed, feeling anxious in the hostile environment. “I’m telling the truth!” she said, drawing their attention at last.

“I doubt it,” the man called Viserys replied, and he narrowed his eyes before they landed on Nymeria. “My brother, the king, will return shortly. In the meanwhile you will be taken downstairs,” he motioned his head for someone to take her, but no one moved.

“I will escort you, my lady,” the dwarf said and bowed respectfully. “My name is Tyrion, of House Lannister. Impressive beast you have there.”

"You'd be wise to control your wolf!” The arrogant prince shouted when they started moving.

“Her name is Nymeria,” Arya answered Tyrion, ignoring the other man.

“A good name,” Tyrion grinned and stopped, admiring Nym. “If I touch her, will she chew my hand off?”

Arya looked at Nym and she seemed comfortable enough with him. “She won’t.”

Tyrion scratched the grey wolf behind the ears. Her yellow eyes watched him impassively. After that, they returned to their walk, eventually descending the stairs. Arya, who had never been inside a ship like this, was impressed by its size.

Tyrion led her to a room that seemed unoccupied. He stood by the door and bowed slightly. “My lady.”

“Oh, I’m not a lady,” she answered distractedly.

“Maybe when you change into a dress you’ll look more like one.”

"Dress?” She said, her voice reaching a rather high pitch. “I think I will stay with my own clothes, thanks." She had completely forgotten that her pyjamas made her look out of place.

"I believe it is best that you dress appropriately for your situation. Besides, you can’t stay in wet clothes, or else you’ll catch your death. I think some of the princess’ dresses will fit you, never fear."

He entered a room adjacent to the one they were in and returned with a small chest, promising to return with the princess’ maid, who would help her dress. Meanwhile, Nym stretched and lay down on the bed. Arya picked a dress, deciding not to argue because she was feeling cold. As she began to inspect the chest, behind her the door opened.

“Tyrion, what is the meaning of this…” A man’s voice trailed off.

Arya turned to face a man who appeared to be in his mid-forties. He was tall and had purple eyes and the same silver-blond hair of the rude man from before. And he was staring at her, his mouth slightly open, shock written all over his face.

“Lyanna,” he breathed out in disbelief.

“Sorry,” she answered, shaking her head. "I'm Arya. Arya Stark."

"Is this a trick?” He asked sharply. “You are Lyanna. You have to be!" With a crazed look, he tried to approach Arya but was stopped by Nymeria, who growled and stepped in front of her.

The man’s reaction wasn’t something Arya could have predicted. He quickly lifted his left hand, pointing up, and moved it down. In response, bars descended from the ceiling, creating a sort of cage that trapped the giant wolf.

"Stop!" Arya exclaimed while Nym growled. "She was only protecting me!"

"Calm yourself. Your Familiar will be released when I decipher who you are," the man said.

"I already told you my name, didn’t you hear?" Arya argued loudly. She was feeling distressed and didn’t know what she should do.

“Is that truly how you’ll choose to talk to me?” he challenged.

Shrugging, Arya answered, “You haven’t given us the benefit of the doubt so yeah that’s how I’ll talk to you.”

“If you knew who I am, little girl, you would not speak to me that way,” he told her, his expression darkening.

“Given that you trapped my wolf and doesn’t seem to be willing to act calmly, yeah, I think I still would,” Arya said, sounding braver than she felt. She did not doubt that he was capable of hurting her, but she also did not doubt that she had to save Nym.

“I am Rhaegar of House Targaryen, the rightful king of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm," he declared. "What have you to say now?"

“I had already gathered that.” Drawing herself up to her full height, Arya stared up defiantly at the king. She took a deep breath. “I'm a friend of Rhaenys. And Jon. You are their father, aren't you?"

“Do you think that by saying my children’s names I will bend? That information is not a secret, so you’ll have to work harder than that.”

"Rhaenys is brilliant. She's smart and beautiful and kind. Oh! And she is left-handed, though she pretends otherwise. And she knows Water Dance! She respects you and wants your approval, so she only argued once when you told her to marry so young." He looked alarmed at that. "Jon is- He is quiet. He thinks before he talks. He is also attentive and gentle. And you left him behind, telling him to go live in a castle alone, without even saying good-bye.”

Rhaegar was staring thoughtfully at her.

“Now if everything is to your satisfaction Lord King,” Arya said with a touch of sarcasm, “Will you please take me seriously.”

"Arya Stark,” he said, letting the name roll over his tongue expressively as if testing it on his lips. “How are you real? Your father, is he Benjen Stark?"

"No," she said simply.

"There is no other Stark. And even Benjen has been missing for years."

She shouldn’t have said her last name. "My father's name is Eddard Stark," she confessed, biting her lip. 

"Eddard?” Rhaegar asked as if trying to remember something. “Lyanna’s lost brother!” He looked down at her sharply and exclaimed, “You are an Outsider! How?" When she didn’t answer, he repeated, "How?!"

Arya shook her head. "I won't tell you. Not until you release her."

The king frowned. "I command you to speak." Arya glanced at him and shook her head again. "Very well. Until you tell me how an Outsider can exist in this reality, and how you bonded with a familiar of house Stark when another already existed, yours will be kept in this cage, while you remain by my side."

“Please!” Arya pleaded. “Free her! Even if we stay, we mean you no harm, there's no need to keep her locked up.”

“There is no one that would vouch for you here,” he said in a low voice. “I can’t risk my men’s lives by letting a giant wolf roam the ship.”

“If we’re not in danger, we won’t attack…” Arya began to say defiantly, but then a thought made her stop. “Ask Rhaenys. She is my friend, I've known her for years, she will tell you to trust me.”

Rhaegar fixed her with a deep stare, then finally called, louder, “Tyrion.”

Mere moments passed before Tyrion opened the door and said, “Yes, my lord.”

“Close the door. What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room,” he said quickly. After the other man obliged, Rhaegar took a deep breath and said gravely, “She is not a common child.”

Tyrion chuckled. “Oh, that much is clear my lord.”

Rhaegar continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “She is an Outsider.”

Tyrion looked up at him, surprised. “You mean-”

“Exactly,” Rhaegar interrupted. “Another sign. I must write a letter and then we’ll leave.”

Tyrion quickly exited the room and returned with a few instruments. Arya sat down near Nym, petting her through the bars, and watched as Rhaegar sat in front of a tiny table. He picked up the quill Tyrion had brought and collected ink with it. Arya felt like she was watching a period movie as he wrote and then sealed the letter with wax. She felt a mad urge to try clicking her heels together three times and wishing for home, but decided against it, knowing it would be useless.

Rhaegar gave the letter to Tyrion, who left swiftly. Then he turned to the other two occupants in the room and gave them a look of pity mixed with guilt.

“You can use this room and stay with her some of the time,” he said, opening the door to the corridor. He lingered at the door looking at Arya with a mix of emotions displayed in his purple eyes that she couldn’t decipher. “But you will join me in the deck now,” he said, with a more severe tone.

Arya’s back stiffened at his order. “I won’t leave her!” she vehemently cried.

Suddenly she felt something binding her wrists. She looked down and saw nothing. She stared at Rhaegar and with a flick of his hand, the invisible straps around her wrists released.

“I hope I made myself clear. Come.”

Her stomach twisted. He knew magic in a way she hadn’t even imagined existed. Arya turned to Nym, who silently stared back and emanated an aura of confidence.

“Won’t you at least give her more space?”

“Yes, she will be allowed to stay free inside this cabin. For now. After my daughter responds, I may be more amenable to free her.”

Arya reached and gave Nym a quick stroke against her muzzle, hoping she knew she would make everything she could to help her. She stood and, sensing she had no other choice, let the king lead her out of the room.

They retreated to the deck again, where Arya stood as far away from the king as she could get, repulsed by him entirely. She tried not to show that she was shivering, her clothes still wet from her earlier spill into the sea.

"Men!" King Rhaegar shouted. "Come forth!"

The men on board halted instantly, looking to their leader and then curiously at her.

"We will be setting sail soon, and Lady Snow will accompany us on our journey,” he said. Arya was surprised that he hid her name but didn’t show it.

“Isn’t it best to leave her and her monster on that island, brother?” Viserys, who stood near them, asked.

"Quite the contrary," the king said coldly, "A letter will be sent within half an hour and we leave, men, is that understood?" They nodded their agreement and he continued further, "As for Lady Snow, if I hear that an incriminating hand has been laid upon her, you will be killed the moment I see you. She will not leave my side for the majority of her stay here and so I doubt any of you will try anything."

The gaze he sent, which landed on Viserys first and passed on to the rest of them, made it clear that they would follow his orders.

Someone in the back raised their hand. The king rolled his eyes and jutted out his chin, motioning for the person to speak. Arya was surprised when a woman raised her voice.

"Are we permitted to speak to the lady? One would surely go mad speaking to only one person on a ship so large, brother."

Rhaegar seemed to ponder this, as though not certain as to how to answer her. 

"Perhaps she could be part of Lady Daenerys' court.” Tyrion, who arrived at the deck spoke. “No doubt our princess is in need of a female friendly companion as well."

Said princess flushed crimson and avoided Tyrion's gaze. "I simply thought I could be of some help."

"Yes, that might work. You may speak to the lady," Rhaegar shouted over whatever Viserys had been about to say. "If she is not accompanied by Daenerys or me, your words will be respectful, and none of you will be taking the lady anywhere I don't know."

"But what if I want to talk to them?" Arya asked.

He didn't reply at first and watched her with a complex look on his face. After a few seconds, he replied, "My word is final."

"Yes, brother," the princess was the only one who responded to the king’s words. When he turned to talk to Tyrion, she approached the new member of the crew.

Arya was even more surprised to realize the princess was a teenager. In fact, she didn't look much older than Arya. She was beautiful, however. She resembled Rhaenys somehow, though her pale skin, and long, pale silver-gold hair were the opposite of her friend's olive skin and thick black hair. When she was closer Arya realized the resemblance was in her eyes— they were exactly like Rhaenys' violet eyes.

"My name is Daenerys Stormborn,” the princess declared with her chin up. “I hope we can be friends, despite the situation you've found yourself in so suddenly."

"I'm Arya. Arya S-Snow," that was everything she felt was safe to offer.

"I hear you appeared out of nowhere with a giant beast."

Arya was tired of hearing that word. "Wolf. Not a beast. Her name is Nymeria."

"I meant no offence. Perhaps you could show me?"

Arya stared at her, deciding not to trust her—or anyone on that boat. "How old are you?"

"I am five-and-ten," Daenerys replied with a smile. “And you?"

"I'm almost twelve,” Arya replied.

The princess nodded. "Come. I will show you my Familiar and then maybe you can show me yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! Can't believe it took me so long to update, but here it is.  
> Thanks so so much for all your comments and kudos. So very appreciated!


	12. New allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. I've been writing bit by bit sporadically. I think that influenced a lot the length of this chapter! Anyways, thanks for all the support and feedback :)

A month had passed and Jon had not yet confirmed that Arya had arrived safely in her world. His frustration grew, and each day he became more certain that his lack of knowledge about magic was an important factor for his difficulty in acquiring news. 

He had hoped that his dreams would lead him to an encounter with her or Bran, but so far he had been sleeping poorly, and if he dreamed, he did not recall it once he woke. Jon often found himself thinking about what had happened before, theorizing why Aegon had called Arya Azor Ahai and wondering suspiciously what remained of his brother’s influence in the castle, anticipating that one of the stone dragons would suddenly come alive to harm him. Besides, it didn’t help that he had been receiving guests the past week for the upcoming feast, which took him a lot of time and energy.

That night, after a day full of meetings, greetings and negotiations, Jon decided to try one more time. He was too tired —or too hungry— to sleep though. It felt like he lay there waiting for hours and sleep just wouldn’t come. Giving up, Jon got up, washed and dressed and went to the kitchens in search of something to eat. When he was full, a thought occurred to make him change his strategy, and he impulsively ran outside.

There was no godswood in Dragonstone. Within the castle, the only place with some greenery was located under the arch of the Dragon's Tail, down in Aegon's Garden, with its tall dark trees, wild roses and towering thorny hedges. When he arrived there, Jon immediately noticed the garden lacked the power that was almost palpable in the Red Keep’s godswood, where he had often been found when he lived in King’s Landing due to his mother's religion.

Jon was looking for a weirwood, but didn’t find one there, so he crossed to the outer yard, passed under a portcullis into the inner bailey, and started searching for the place he thought he had seen red leaves once, in the outskirts of the castle.

Outside, despite the darkness and the late hour, wagons and riders were still passing through the castle gates, the yard a chaos of mud and horseflesh and shouting men. All of that was happening due to Jon’s decision, he thought dismally.

When he arrived in Dragonstone, Jon had had conversations with the steward about the emptiness of the storerooms and with maester Cressen about the lesser lords’ requests to know the current lord of the castle. After the chaos Aegon had caused, Jon decided he wouldn’t just wait around in fear of his brother’s next move. He had set out to correct the problems in the castle—hence the arrival of all these men now. Jon had also sent letters to the houses sworn to Dragonstone, and other islands still, inviting them to the feast that would happen on the following day, to discuss means of trade that could assure their long-term stability.

Lords, knights, smallfolk and pirates—all of them would have to wait now, he thought as he cast light with a torch at his surroundings.

It took him a while to find it, but after searching for an hour or so, Jon discovered that there was, indeed, a heart tree on the island of Dragonstone. It had been hard to find it because the glimpse of red he saw earlier was not above, but below. The heart tree was in fact a great oak, and the dark red blooms of dragon's breath grew on the ground surrounding it.

Jon knelt before the tree's carved face as if it had been a weirwood all the same. He touched its trunk and had to refrain from the impulse to howl. In the back of his mind, Jon knew Ghost was hunting on the other side of the island, but he could almost feel the direwolf’s ear prick up and his fur bristle.

A gust of cold air made him lose his concentration and the sound of leaves rustling told him he wasn’t alone. When he turned his head, Jon was surprised to see a slender boy who looked a few years younger than himself approaching. Curiously, all his garb was green, even to the leather of his boots, and when he came closer Jon saw that the clothes matched his eyes. As Jon stood, the boy went to one knee.

"My lord," he said, “I was sent by your brother of yore to give you aid. Hearth and heart and harvest I yield up to you, my lord, and I swear, by earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire, that I shall not fail you."

Jon groped for words, astounded by the sudden vow. “Who are you?”

“I am Jojen of House Reed, my Lord, from Greywater Watch,” the boy replied, standing up. “Brandon Stark sent me to help you in his absence.”

“His absence?” Jon didn’t like the sound of that.

“He is well, but the levels of concentration that are required of him are preventing him from talking to you as he normally did. I am a greenseer this time around, and so he approached me again to help.”

That hadn’t reassured Jon, but he pressed for more information still. “Does that mean you can see the future?”

“Possible futures, I’ve come to learn. But now I’m going to help you see the past,” he said, offering his hand.

“Bran has already told me about the… past, and how we were brothers once.”

“He hasn’t shown you, though. Now it is time for you to see and remember.” At Jon’s hesitancy, the boy added, “Bran said to tell you, ‘Winter is coming.’”

When Jon grasped the boy’s hand, he had to close his eyes against the wave of images and feelings; Winterfell’s massive walls of grey granite, Lord Stark smiling in approval at him, Robb grinning about some prank, Bran teasing them with a glint in his eye, Rickon in his crib gurgling with laughter, even Sansa with her songs… Most of all, Jon remembered Arya Stark and the adventures they had shared.

He rubbed at his forehead with his free hand and flinched when the fingers seemed to burn. He flexed them and realized they weren’t scarred anymore. Jon recalled being a member of the Night's Watch. Many faces flashed in his mind then, Sam, Maester Aemon, Ygritte...

It felt like years of fog were beginning to clear, as if a part of him that had been missing had suddenly returned.

“Remember the Wall,” Jojen’s voice filtered through Jon’s thoughts. “It has fallen once, hasn’t it?”

The memory of that night cut through Jon’s mind; sharp images of loss, the overwhelming panic when he'd lost sight of Arya; the shock of terror at the sight of the Wall crumbling… the hopelessness when he realized Arya and Bran were in there when it happened.

The grief sent him to his knees again just as it had on that terrible night and Jon let go of Jojen’s hand. He let out a shuddering breath, a sob catching at the back of his throat.

He opened his eyes and took in the sight of the heart tree again. "I’m sorry, Bran. I’m so sorry," he whispered.

After a few minutes, Jon got to his feet and shook himself as though he was Ghost. Now he remembered being Jon Snow, kind of. He knew what it felt like to grow amongst the Starks, and thought it funny that he had felt like an outcast then just as he felt now, being a Targaryen. He was still solemn and guarded, and knew that he was considered sullen and quick to sense a slight, just as he had been then.

At least now he had an explanation for the weird feeling he had sometimes of already knowing something that should be new to him. He would often reach out, trying to capture the elusive memories, but just as they were almost within his grasp —they were right there, right on the tip of his tongue—they disappeared.

There were so many memories, though, a lifetime's worth flashing in his mind, with an immediacy to them. He wasn't just remembering them as facts that had happened to someone else, he was feeling them as if he'd experienced them himself. Which of course he had.

“Stay calm,” Jojen advised. “You’ll be overwhelmed if you try to remember everything now. When you want to remember something, you just have to think about it. You will remember bit by bit. For the time being, focus on the fact that you are Jon Targaryen now.”

Jon took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he tried to focus. Then he closed his eyes and remembered where he was, and what he did that day. He thought about the reason he had been looking for a heart tree.

“Arya… I need to know if she is well,” he said.

“You will,” Jojen said simply.

Jon was still feeling dazed. “Bran said that he changed things by sending Lord Stark to the other world. But that wasn't all he did. There was no… Magic then.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but you are mistaken. Magic had always existed in that reality, but we had all forgotten how to use it and thus, over hundreds of years, we suppressed it. But at the beginning, the elements of creation belonged not to an uncaring god, or the whims of chance, but to you, to us—the mind’s eye.”

“I don’t understand,” Jon said, feeling out of sorts.

“Magic begins through the process of perception. Most people aren’t wizards, but all of us must wake up to the limitations of our perception of life. We don’t live in reality, we live in our minds. So much of the human experience is us trying to get out of our heads —with art, love, community— and in the end, if there is no magic, there is only one way out, which is death. But not here,” Jojen pointed to his head. “Transcendence could be achieved through prophecies and greendreams in the other reality. But it had become a rare ability.”

“So, what you’re saying is that a few people did have some remnants of magic, but it was limited to visions of the future.”

“Or so we thought. But really, there were people who could walk through flames, warg into direwolves, bring versions of some people back to life, and there was… Bran. He had the ability to change the past. I think no one was ever meant to have that much power. I guess he can even be considered some kind of god. If it was someone else, they could become a vengeful god. But it was Bran,” Jojen said proudly. “He wanted to save his family, but he couldn’t control it. He brought magic back, or at least the knowledge of it, by doing that.” 

Jon tipped his head back and stared at the sky while he tried to process that information.

“This time you are the winged wolf,” Jojen said when he looked at him. Jon blinked. “There is no saying how far and how high you might fly... if you had someone to teach you how to access magic.”

"And that someone is you,” Jon deduced.

“It would be an honour to teach you, my Lord,” the boy bowed his head.

Jon had always wanted to prove himself to his father and his brother, who had always set him aside. But now he knew his only goal had to be the defeat of the White Walkers come winter. Everything else was pointless, or all of Bran’s effort would have been in vain. He thought about that threat in the other reality and remembered feeling exhausted. Bereft. Maybe he could do something this time around, though. Now he was a legitimate prince, he had more assets. 

And allies, he thought, looking at Jojen.

“Thank you,” Jon said after a few minutes of silence. “I will need all the help I can get.”

***

The next night, beyond the heavy red doors of The Great Hall of the Stone Drum, eight long rows of trestle tables filled the room that was shaped like a dragon lying on its belly. Dragonstone hadn’t received guests in a while, so most of the people who entered lingered in the gateway admiring the architecture.

Jon wore black breeches and a red doublet, and over his heart was the emblem of House Targaryen. The previous night’s revelations made him less invested in the feast he was hosting that evening, but a sudden arrival of illustrious and unexpected guests made Jon realize he had a chance to build alliances that could help his cause in the future. Thus, he decided a bit of pomp was necessary.

He had primarily invited to the feast his vassals and the lords from islands within Blackwater Bay. He had been very surprised when islanders from other parts of Westeros’ eastern coast had shown up, bringing nobles from Shipbreaker Bay and Estermont.

That would have been fine. The problem was that along with Lord Selwyn Tarth of Evenfall Hall came Robert Baratheon. And he wasn’t alone; Robert came with his wife, Cersei, and even his children, including his famous bastard. Lord Selwyn explained that his Lord Paramount had been in Estermont when word of Jon's feast had reached them, and he had decided to come along to the feast.

Many were shocked by Robert Baratheon’s appearance since he rarely left Storm’s End and usually sent Cersei in his place when he needed to be represented. Jon had stared, in disbelief, when he remembered that this man had caused a rebellion that had inconceivably changed Westeros on the 'previous life'. Jon wondered if Ned Stark’s absence in this man’s life was the reason for such a change. 

Robert was clearly red-faced from drink, which accompanied by the dark circles underneath his eyes and the wild, thick beard that probably hadn’t been trimmed in years, made him look the total opposite of his wife and heir, who were the portrait of the Lannister wealth. The image was even more unbalanced by the presence of Robert’s bastard, who held his father’s arm when he walked to make sure he wouldn’t fall.

"Hope you don't mind feeding a few more mouths, my boy,” was all he said as a greeting, before turning to his son. “Let us find some wine.”

The young man looked stricken and embarrassed but merely bowed and directed his father away. Cersei, who was beside them the whole time, had gone white with anger. She had a complicated crown of intricate blonde braids piled on her head and dozens of bracelets encircling her arms, which tinkled when she dipped into a curtsy. 

“Prince Jon,” she said pleasantly as if they were old acquaintances. “May I present my son, and the heir of House Baratheon, Joffrey, and his sister, Myrcella. We are pleased to be welcomed so graciously in Dragonstone.”

The trio had golden curls, emerald eyes and was richly dressed. Jon didn’t have to search his memories to know he disliked them but soon remembered that they had been the cause of Eddard Stark’s brutal assassination and had to control his face so he wouldn’t display his repulse for all to see.

He cleared his throat, bowed his head and announced that food would soon be served. He then turned and left the confounded family behind. 

Jon took a seat at the head table and called Jojen to sit by his side. The conversation died off around the hall as a band of musicians entered and began playing while the guests took their seats. Jon listened politely but tuned out when it struck him forcefully that he did not belong here, in this room, with these people. He remembered what Aegon had told him long ago about what it meant to have power. We are surrounded by flatterers and fools, his brother had insisted. Jon looked down the table and wondered which were the flatterers and which the fools. In the Wall, he’d thought he could set them apart, but that had cost him his life. Would he be able to do so this time? Who should he trust now?

The previous day he had been nervous. He was young, after all, and was acting independently for the first time. He would have felt even more out of sorts once he realized that he hadn’t entirely escaped the courtly games he had hated so much in King’s Landing. But now he had the experience of being Jon Snow locked in his mind and, weird though as it may be, he felt confident and prepared to deal with a simple feast, so he clapped dutifully at the end of the song along with the rest of the crowd and when they quieted he stood and began to speak.

Jon knew that if he spoke of the White Walkers so soon he would not be taken seriously. He measured his words and tried to focus them on the notion of unity and the well being of all. He proposed that each island started producing an issue for them to trade amongst each other and with the continent, in a way that would allow them to prevent a shortage of food and resources when the seasons changed. By the end of his speech, with his guests' (including high lords and lesser lords) inputs and suggestions, Jon had a feeling that it would work out.

Much later, after all the sweets had been served and washed down with gallons of summerwine, the food was cleared and the tables shoved back against the walls to make room for the dancing. Although Jon was glad that the mood was of celebration, it was too hot inside, and too noisy. Jojen had already excused himself and Jon escaped the dance floor and darted past some flirtatious ladies who had been smiling at him the whole night.

He just needed some air, but as he walked down the corridor, he heard footsteps and Cersei’s voice. He slowed down and decided he had no qualms about listening to her conversation.

“-need to do something, Robert,” she was saying. “We’ve come here with the only intention of securing a betrothal to Myrcella, and you’ve only made a fool of yourself. Nevermind that the prince is completely inferior to our daughter. He might as well be a bastard with those manners and addressing all the lords as if they were equal.”

Given that she was walking as she talked, and that Jon had stood still, it was inevitable that they met when she turned and entered the hallway he was in. Shock was written all over Cersei’s face and despite trying to school her features into something more polite, she was clearly angry that he had obviously heard her.

Jon regarded her coldly. "Lady Baratheon, I may not look like one, but I am a Targaryen. It is a shame that you consider my manners equivalent to a bastard’s, which to you seems to be a high offence, but I hope that it gives you solace that I have no intention of marrying just yet, so you are not to be subjected to them any further.”

Robert Baratheon laughed loudly, his head thrown back and his teeth flashing. Cersei turned away—from shame or anger Jon could not tell, likely both. He started to walk but Robert called his name. His face had lost all its laughter and he was still, tall and broad as the rebellious Robert Jon had heard Lord Stark talk about once, brave and fearless and terrible even in his disgruntled appearance.

“She is poisoning me,” Robert said as if he was telling him that the sky was blue. “Poison is a coward's weapon, to be sure, so I realized it too late. Too late for me."

Jon didn't know what to say to that.

"I have a favour to ask of you. That is why I came," Robert continued after taking a deep breath. "But first, I have to tell you that I hate your father. It is no secret since he stole your mother from me. So understand that I feel no great pleasure in coming here to ask this of you.”

Lyanna told Jon about that story. That she had been promised to Robert from a young age, but after Eddard disappeared her family had delayed her matrimony, which gave her time to grow, to know Rhaegar and eventually marry him after Elia died.

“When I'm gone, I do not doubt that Cersei will find a way to kill my son too,” Robert continued. “He is all that I care about. I thought about legitimising him, but to do that I would have to ask your dear father and that just won’t do. Anyway,” he cleared his throat as if it was becoming difficult to speak. “I ask that you foster him. Mayhaps he could be your squire. I know that it will be strange, him being a year older than you, but I have no one else to ask. My brothers—I made many mistakes, but my son shouldn’t have to pay the price for them. And the Lannisters are very powerful. They only fear the Targaryens. I know that Cersei will not try to harm him if he is with you.”

Jon considered the request for a minute. Something about Robert’s son had struck a chord in him. Maybe it was because he could see so much of himself in him, or because he now remembered what it had felt like to be a bastard. He looked at Robert’s miserable face and nodded.

The older man was visibly relieved. He blinked a few times and then bowed his head, whispering his gratitude.

Before anything else could be said, they were interrupted by Maester Pylos.

“My prince, a raven arrived with a letter. I told Maester Cressen we should wait to give it to you, but he insisted that you should read it today and I could not dissuade him.”

_Brother_ , was the only word written outside the scroll, and it had the Tyrell seal in it. Dark wings, dark words, Jon thought. Though curious about the content, Jon refrained from opening it and looked at Robert Baratheon, who was still standing nearby.

“My Lord, I am sorry about your situation and I vow to protect your son as best as I can. Find him and send him to my solar so we can talk.”

After Robert left, Jon dismissed Maester Pylos, asking him to send Jojen Reed to his solar as well. When the young maester excused himself to do as he was told, Jon broke the seal, flattened the parchment and read.

_“My dearest Jon,_

_First, allow me to tell you how much I miss you. You must know that I regret my decision to abide by Father’s choices and that for years I wondered how things could have been if we had had a more close relationship._

_I won’t fuss you with the details of that, not sure I really could, at any rate. Suffice it to say, I am sorry for not reaching out sooner. You must think me just as cruel as the rest of our family. I know many of them found in Father’s aloofness an excuse to treat you with little regard. I will always be ashamed of my complicity, because that is what my inaction was._

_Please accept my apology and trust me when I say that we must unite, for someone dear to us both is surely in danger._

_I have just received a letter from Father, telling me that I ought to explain Arya Stark’s existence in this world. She apparently has embarked on their ship. He assured me that she is well and will be treated with the utmost respect, but I have to say my heart is in despair by her presence there. Surely it wasn’t her choice!_

_I know that both of you can communicate somehow. Can you reach her?_

_If you do, please let me know._

_Your loving sister,_

_Rhaenys”_

“Gods,” Jon choked as he drew his hand into a fist, unconsciously crumpling the letter.

Many times that day Jon had felt bewildered and stunned by memories or visions of the past. None of them had been more intense than the one he was having now _—_ flashes of a letter sealed with pink and the word bride were running amok in his thoughts over and over again.

Lost in those recollections, Jon didn't notice Ghost approaching until he was right in front of him. The direwolf licked Jon's face and he felt himself focusing on the present again. Then he forced air back through his lungs and headed towards his solar, with his familiar by his side.

When he got there, Jojen was already waiting for him.

"Thank you for coming so fast," Jon said. "I have a few letters to send and I could really use your help to create a strategy. Please sit." He gestured towards a chair and proceeded to explain his sister’s letter and his plan to write to Rhaenys, to his father and to Davos.

"My lord, if I understood correctly, you are, more than anything, concerned about Arya's well being." At Jon's nod, he continued, "You are capable of talking to her in a much simpler way: through your Familiars."

"Through Ghost?"

"And Nymeria, yes. You and Arya are incredibly more connected to them than you think. Don't you remember?"

"That Ghost and I shared a body when I died? Yeah, it’s foggy, but the memory is there," Jon said, shuddering a little. "But… how can I reach Arya through Ghost?"

“I meant, don’t you remember talking to her in your dreams?” Jojen explained.

“I _—_ Yes, I always knew that she was there when I had wolfdreams, but we didn’t talk or anything, we just… I just knew that whenever Ghost and Nymeria were together, it was like Arya and I were there too.”

“And that is the awareness we need to work on,” Jojen said.

Jon felt a little more relieved with the perspective of at least knowing Arya was alright. He was about to explain to Jojen that he had not been dreaming a lot lately when a knock on his door interrupted him. He moved to open it and realized he had nearly forgotten he had asked Robert to send his son to his solar.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, my prince,” the young man said, looking uncomfortable. “My father told me you asked to see me. I’m sorry if that wasn’t the case.”

“No, I did. Please sit,” Jon said, once he realized he should invite him in. “You may call me Jon, if you wish. I think we are going to spend a lot of time together from now on... Er, I’m afraid I cannot place your name,” he added, belatedly remembering his courtesies.

“It’s Gendry, my prince. At your service.”


End file.
